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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25579705">Backup Host</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnlighteningGravity/pseuds/EnlighteningGravity'>EnlighteningGravity</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gravity Falls</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bill Cipher is a Jerk, Bill and Ford are basically in a race to get to stan first, Ford gets less time then i wanted him to but trust me he’ll be back, Graphic Description, Mullet Stan Pines, Paranoid Ford Pines, Self-Hatred, Smoking, Stan Pines Needs A Hug, Stan centric mainly, Stangst, Things will get worse before they get better, allusions to gambling and involvement in the drug cartel, basically stan's years alone, but they will get better nonetheless, some torture aftermath, this fic is very canon-following but with a big ol twist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:14:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>77,243</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25579705</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnlighteningGravity/pseuds/EnlighteningGravity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After Stanford finds out about Bill's plans for his dimension and shuts him out of his mind, Bill Cipher needs to find another pawn in his plan to activate the portal. What better way to do that than to target Stanford's twin brother, who is desperately trying to crawl out of the consequences of his mistakes as well?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>118</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>116</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Names Others Call You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>An unnamed man stumbled out of a bar somewhere in a city in New Mexico. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The dismal night setting closed at his throat like a razor, his silhouette being shown against an array of reds and blues of the bar’s neon lighting. In the state he was in, not completely wasted but drunk all the same, he could separate the colors somewhat from one another rather than have them be fumbled together. </p>
<p>It was pathetic, but he felt a tiny bit of home on the outside of it, cast in the glow of the neon blue. </p>
<p>He pulled out a cigarette from a pack in the rear pocket of his dust-layered blue jeans and a lighter from the front. Raising it to his lips, the man sighed as he lit it in frustration, thumb rolling against the spark wheel, the dirt-encrusted nail scraping against it. It took one or two tries amidst shaking hands to actually keep a flame going after firmly pressing the ignition.</p>
<p>At this point, he started walking back to his motel room, the glow of the bar that once illuminated his face now surrendered to the mercy of the golden streetlights and thus fell on his back until it lagged behind altogether. He walked with a calm amble, keeping his head down and his hands in the front pockets of his jeans.</p>
<p>His fingers fiddled with the familiar brass knuckles that were located in his left pocket.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It reminded him of the situation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His situation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was about Rico.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rico would find him soon.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wondered if he got Jorge out of prison when he eventually escaped, though a part of him believed that Rico wouldn’t want to deal with an extra pair of hands if he didn’t need to; unless Jorge was acting as his professional scapegoat and managed to stay behind. </p>
<p>Like he, himself, had left them behind.</p>
<p>Out of both of them, Jorge did frighten him the most even though Rico was known to be more <em> creative </em> when his gang found their double-crosser of choice. It wouldn’t matter if Jorge had escaped in the end anyway, Rico had others just like him. Could get others like him. Even if he had to find one. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now that Rico’s out of prison.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And when he’s looking for the guy that just so happened to put him in there.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The man’s blood seemed to race as his heart sped up and his walking accelerated as he recalled the experience about a year before. He had come across Rico and his gang in Columbia and offered his hand in a jewelry heist. When that went sour, only the three of them were caught and, with one expertly crafted sweet-talking session with an intoxicated guard and some slight of hand, at the time it was Stetson Pinefield and his two cellmates who slipped from behind iron bars.</p>
<p>Only Pinefield managed to escape when the sirens started blaring and the other two had to stay behind, with that being the last time the other two got to see the face of the man who left in favor of saving his own skin.</p>
<p>Until the other night when someone with a couple of golden rings on his middle and pinkie finger put a hand on his shoulder in a bar and said with a low unrecognizable and rumbling voice, “Rico’s free and he’s out for your head. I’d get outta dodge as soon as you can.” And he was gone, the man never getting the chance to see his messenger’s face. He assumed that his messenger had worked for Rico and was one of the uncatchable ones in their heist.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So he’s hidden out, this being one of the last states he could go to. He was currently working on Plan B.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The unnamed man strolled along the road, passing numerous buildings that were just turning their lights off in response to the sun setting over the horizon, donning the world in a bloody tangerine hue. His shoulders were hunched and his long russet-colored hair fell over them neatly, the cigarette sloppily placed between his lips. </p>
<p>He was thinking about Plan B. About Rico. About going off to another state. Getting the fuck out of here.</p>
<p>When suddenly he bypassed an alleyway and he felt his white tank-top being yanked and two hands clamp onto his left shoulder. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey! What th-“ The man only got the chance to yell before a fist collided with his right ear, leaving a dull but strong sound of knuckle against skin. The man fell to the ground on his side, his hands free from his pockets instantaneously to attempt to catch a hard fall but didn’t follow through when he hit the concrete. The cigarette landed a few feet away from him, still burning.</p>
<p>The pain set in immediately, swarming the right side of his face as his ear rang. “F-fuck!” He cursed, grabbing his right ear and scrambling to his feet, but the dizziness overtook his senses, clouding his judgment, and his corresponding eye went fuzzy momentarily in shock as it tried to communicate with the ear that was out of service at the moment. </p>
<p>His legs were dancing on rubber as he backed up against a brick wall, squinting and trying to gather as much light in his vision from the streetlights outside the alleyway and whatever light remained of the sun to catch who his assailants were as his vision and the ringing jumped back and forth in his skull like a game of pong. The sunset cast strong shadows on the man who punched him and… the three others that emerged from the back corner of the alleyway, fast approaching him by no means friendly. The unnamed man swore he could see the glint of the sun reflected off the metal of a revolver in one of their hands.</p>
<p>Fuck, had Rico gone and found him already?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Andrew Alcatraz. So this is where you’ve been hiding for so long.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No, not Rico.</p>
<p>Someone else.</p>
<p>Andrew didn’t know if he should be relieved that it was or not.</p>
<p>“Shit… uh.” Andrew took a shaking step forward, trying to find control in his gelatin footing. “Can’t say I know you, pal.”</p>
<p>His assailant rushed at him again, shoving him against the wall with brute force. Andrew dug his toes into the ground to keep from falling, then stabilized himself by his heels as the man spoke again.</p>
<p>“We’ve been tracking you since you left Nevada, Alcatraz! Don’t play dumb with me just yet! Where’s our money?”</p>
<p>“You’re gonna hav’ta be more specific. I did a lot of shit in Vegas that’s kinda fuzzy right about now.”</p>
<p>He heard a fierce growl and felt two hands clasp the front of his tank-top and the man yanked him towards him, Andrew’s feet trailing behind. Finally, could he get a glimpse of his assailant’s enraged expression.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And Andrew beamed, a classic salesman’s grin spread across his face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh hey, Willy! I thought it might just be you! Wow, since Vegas, right? A lot’s happened since then. How’ve you been?”</p>
<p>“Can it, Alcatraz! We know you skipped the country shortly after you left! You scrounging up the cash to pay us back? Where is it?!” The man, Willy, shook Andrew once abruptly, which did no justice to Andrew’s increasing dizziness due to the blow on the side of his skull.</p>
<p>“Remind me…” Andrew muttered, keeping his voice down to keep his conversation out of the ears of the other men behind Willy. He slurred as the neck of his shirt was pulled up right at his chin and he could feel the fabric brushing up against the stubble. “... what I did to owe you-?”</p>
<p>“You won the wallet of every one of my men in Vegas! Except-“ Willy threw him against the brick wall and Andrew hit it, hard, sliding down on his back, the bottom of his shirt sliding up against the rough wall, his rear hitting the concrete. “Some patron saw you slippin’ aces in your pockets! Paid a pretty penny for the guy to rat you out, Alcatraz, but we got him eventually. You cheated everyone out and we want what you stole from us!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Oh shit. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Why now?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Now listen, fellas.” Andrew put his hands up by his cheeks, glancing upward at Willy and the people behind him. He cringed slightly as his voice slurred a bit, which brought forth his drunken state on par with the dizziness. The ginger man was pissed, his mustached lip curled into a snarl and his fists were shaking, in which Andrew could see the skin worn away in scars around his knuckles.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Never a good sign.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He could lie... say that the rat was accusing him of something he didn't do.</p>
<p>But judging by the circumstance, no one would believe it. Maybe a different kind of lie. That could just get him through just for right now. The three others surrounded Willy, one nearing Andrew from around the one with the gun before Andrew finally spoke.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fellas… what would you say if I paid you back all that and more? Much more than what you ever lost in the first place?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Willy was silent and Andrew had a glimmer of hope that maybe he could stall him a little bit. Just a little. Willy <em> was </em> smart and probably no stranger to an empty deal, but he was probably thinking as long as Andrew was alone and cornered, he could <em> benefit </em> from another man’s desperation. Especially if he was a gambler and had tabs on him.</p>
<p>“Maybe we should leave the maggots somethin’ to nibble on, Will.” one of the background men said. His voice was a low southern drawl and seemed to trail in the air even after he finished speaking. </p>
<p>“You really think you’re up to negotiating in your state after you got caught, Alcatraz?” another one said, in a flat tone that somehow still spat out like snake venom.</p>
<p>Andrew’s eyes narrowed and he contemplated quickly his options. Willy <em>could </em>hear him out but then again...</p>
<p>He thought about reaching into his front pockets and whipping out the brass knuckles nestled in there and maybe the dizziness would subside if he rolled out from under their perception and started swinging. He wasn’t shy to threats like this, but it’s better to be prepared since he was outnumbered and pinned. However, the last person he trusted was the silent gentlemen in the back who hadn’t spoken yet and was holding the revolver. Better keep eyes on him-</p>
<p>“Wait. I wanna hear what this filth has to say.” </p>
<p>“But Will, he fuckin’ robbed us-“ The snake spat.</p>
<p>“I want to hear his proposition and if it’s worth it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Andrew resisted cracking a victorious grin as his assumptions about ol’ Willy was right. Hook him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I got nothing for you now but I got money comin’ in. Nearly ten grand on the table.” </p>
<p>“And the details of where that’s coming from?” Will questioned, his voice stern.</p>
<p>“I can’t say much. I did make some promises to some rather strict partners. You’ll get everything I owe you plus extra. Enough to line your pockets twice and then some.”</p>
<p>Willy stood there, stone-faced, the wheels turning in his head.</p>
<p>Andrew considered if he was thinking about it and if it was a possible bluff, which it was. Maybe Willy would take a hint and believe he’s worth it of some kind to some bigger people before acting irrationally-</p>
<p>“You’ll get off tonight, Alcatraz, but I’ll be keeping an eye on you to make sure you pay us back every penny and hold true to your little deal.” Will spat and backed away from Andrew, eyeing the men with him and cocking his head as if giving a signal that they were going to leave.</p>
<p>“If you don’t, we will do just fine with splattering your brains across the pavement.” Will sneered and suddenly kicked Andrew roughly in the side, right below his rib cage, and toppled him over to the ground. Andrew heaved out a shuddering gasp before he bit deep into his lip to stop himself from uttering anything else. He was drunk and outnumbered, and though he wanted to shout every curse in his vocabulary and yell at Will insults and threats until his lungs bled, he didn’t and couldn’t. It wasn’t in the plan right now. </p>
<p>The plan right now was to lie low until he could make it to another place from under yet another man’s watch.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was so tired.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>What did he get himself into?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>What went wrong?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He knows what went wrong.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With that, they left Andrew laying on his shoulder, clutching the side in which he was kicked. </p>
<p>When seeing they’ve gone, the now, again, unnamed man picked himself up bit by bit and leaned his back against the brick wall of the alleyway, wincing with every intake of breath and gasping on every exhale. His stance was wide and his knees were bent to keep himself from falling as he grasped his injured side, his fingers digging into his shirt.</p>
<p>He felt the excess mortar, that was left unscraped when building the wall initially, dig into his back and snag on his shirt as he breathed with his mouth open and eyes squinted. That excess dried mortar, he felt, had scratched up his back when he first slid down because the skin around his spine burned. The brick wall opposite him in the alley was ever so present in his blurred vision and the man had some time to really examine it in its withered state. </p>
<p>It was an old fixture, just the side of a late closed down building that just so happened to be down the street from the bar. Many of the bricks jutted out or were chipped and broken, creating this canvas of personality and age.</p>
<p>The most unique feature about it was the white pattern of damaged bricks against the browns and reds of the rest</p>
<p> </p>
<p>a very unusual but natural triangle neatly was centered in the middle of the brick wall.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was interesting how centered it was in front of him specifically... as if it was staring right at him. As if it saw everything that just happened. As if it was taking notes in a one-sided observation.</p>
<p>He needed to leave.</p>
<p>He needed to get back to his motel room.</p>
<p>Hide out for a little longer.</p>
<p>Work on Plan B.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The lamp in the motel room was flickering.</p>
<p>Like it was talking to him.</p>
<p>It was a half-crazy thought but he wasn’t going to lie to himself.</p>
<p>Holy Moses, it was great to have the company.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His heart pounded as he raised the bottle to his lips, holding his breath as he finished his drink and the glass seemingly emptied itself. With every gulp of the liquid came a corresponding heartbeat that thundered in his ears. More towards his right ear, that was recovering from the encounter a couple of nights ago with Will and his men. He sat on the edge of the bed, his feet planted against the carpet below, feeling uncomfortable and warm in the radiating heat which enveloped the room, staining and peeling the wallpaper behind him. </p>
<p>A dark bruise spread and slithered in his side from where this unnamed man was beaten and as he sat there, his ribs throbbed, a silent reminder of what deep shit he’s gotten himself into.</p>
<p>The fact was that his poker scam was a long time ago from when he sat in this overheated motel in New Mexico on one of the hottest late afternoons in the winter of 1982 and yet, the men that blatantly fell for it in the first place still had the pent up aggression to go out and look for him. It only made him think of all the other people he’s swindled. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>How many of them held or were currently holding a grudge? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>How many of them were out there looking for him now?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>How many of them wouldn’t stop looking until they found him? Like Rico, who was hunting him while he sat here useless…?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or like Willy, who could have done away with him by now if he hadn’t managed to lie through his teeth by saying he’d pay them back all the money he’s scammed and more?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ten grand… what he wouldn’t do for that sort of cash right about now. He wished he made more. He wished he could just go back and redo everything that had put something in his pocket and that was including his old business models, his cheap grifting days, the gambling obsessions, the late-night heists, the numerous trips as a drug and money mule in his travels out of the states…</p>
<p>and more stupid and petty criminal bullshit he couldn’t recall at the moment. Dumb meaningless hoopla that he heard got people paid at first but failed to mention the consequences before he got himself involved.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was quicksand and he couldn’t stop struggling. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was in debt up to his neck.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Soon, that debt would tighten and ravel itself into a customized noose built especially for him.</p>
<p>They were right about him lying. They were right he was never going to pay them back. His promises were of false hope. For one, this unnamed grifter had abandoned all his dedication to somehow acquire what he owed his victims in the first place, ditching the notion for an easier option of skipping out on them entirely.</p>
<p>If there was any dedication in the first place.</p>
<p>He was out of it, his head hurt and his fingers twitched around the glass neck of the empty bottle, uneven fingernails making taps against the green so faintly dogs would have to be in an empty room to hear them.</p>
<p>“Rico could be here any day,” this man muttered to himself, his voice more hoarse than usual and sounding dry, as if the alcohol had leached all moisturization from the back of his throat. “... plan B. Plan B. Washington? Washington sounds interestin’...” He closed his brown eyes tight as his headache continued, blood pulsing in his head and seemingly pushing up against his injured ear. </p>
<p>“They gots a lotta trees… easy enough place to hide out… that sorta thing. Haven’t seen the space needle before either. Cross it off the bucket list while I can. Get as far away while I can. If they even give up tracking me by then-” </p>
<p>He choked on his last sentence and breathed in shakily, trying to regain his hindered oxygen intake. He made a fist with his free hand and pushed his forehead into his knuckles.</p>
<p>He was scared to death of what they were gonna do to him if they found him when they found him and part of him believed he deserved all of this. Not just because of the accumulation of all his mistakes that he couldn’t make up for guided him into this mess-</p>
<p>but also because that was his last beer and the last of his money was going into this room because Rico and his goons had to be paid back in full and he barely had a percent of what he owed them. Not to mention he was still processing the bluff and scam he put in to get Will off his back. Just another person he was in debt to. Just another hole he had dug for himself.</p>
<p>He also hadn’t eaten in two days and alcohol was not the best way to fill his gut.</p>
<p>He was vulnerable and broken but most importantly</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was alone in the world</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He dropped the bottle he held previously. Both hands clasped his chest as he lay backward on the motel bed, breathing in the smell of the damp, musty sheets underneath him. However, he couldn’t completely gather it as his nose was running. The tears built up in his widened eyes and slid down the sides of his face, into his ears, as his body shook the bed with silent and compressed sobs.</p>
<p>The muffled red hue of the motel light outside his room tried passing through the window but was stopped by the blinds, enclosing the small room in a dismal color of desperation and agony. The bottom blinds were cracked open, only barely, which sent a crimson streak across the lower half of the motel room and the unnamed man. Disillusioned and shaking, he lay there on the motel bed for what seemed like hours, his knees bent over the edge and his bare feet pressed against the carpet below. He stared with unblinking eyes at the circular center of the ceiling fan. The fan wouldn’t turn on, the cord absolutely useless, making the atmosphere heavy and clay-like in the New Mexico heat. His sweat stuck his stained white tank top to his back like an old adhesive and he could feel it pooling into the sheets at the base of his back and behind his neck. He wasn’t quite sure if it was strictly because of the sluggish and torrid fever the room was</p>
<p>or because he feared this was the definition of rock bottom. They were going to find him and do away with him however they saw fit. He knew deep in his mind if it ever came down to it, he’d try to escape but couldn’t find himself succeeding and he didn’t know why because that’s just what <em>he was good at</em>. That’s the only thing he was good at was <em> running </em>. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And right now</p>
<p> </p>
<p>if they found him</p>
<p> </p>
<p>would he even have the strength to run anymore?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>What would he do?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stop thinking about it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sure, they were on their way</p>
<p> </p>
<p>and they’d find him eventually,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>but right now they weren’t. He was fine for now. He could lay down for now. He could rest for now. How long had it been since he’d gotten any sleep? Had it been near twenty-four hours or was it longer than that? He wasn’t sure. </p>
<p>His shaking subsided as he took a trembling breath in. The ceiling fan was still in the center of his vision, looming over him like a bad omen as he breathed out slowly, his breath hitching in parts.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I never made enough. </p>
<p>I never made anything.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He shut his eyes tight, eyebrows furrowing and clenched the fabric of his shirt in his trembling fists, the knuckles growing ever the more white the tighter his grip got. His teeth clenched and his shoulders quivered, as he allowed his eyes to close and sleep to claim him.</p>
<hr/>
<p>It was hours later when he woke up.</p>
<p>Or so it appeared to be hours later.</p>
<p>He awoke with a start, his eyes flying open.</p>
<p>He wasn’t sure what time it was</p>
<p> </p>
<p>or why</p>
<p> </p>
<p>he was awake.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There wasn’t any sound made, nor was there anybody in the room with him. He didn’t even dream.</p>
<p>The only ambiance that accompanied him was the faint buzzing of the dimly lit lamp that hung by the motel room door and the flickering of another lamp to the left of the bed behind him.</p>
<p>Other than that, it was oddly quiet. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>In fact</p>
<p> </p>
<p>it was</p>
<p> </p>
<p>too silent. No cars.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No muffled voices from other rooms of the motel. If there was anybody staying in them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not one sound.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not even his heartbeat</p>
<p> </p>
<p>which was so unavoidably loud before.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His vision darted from his left to view the lamp beside him to his right where the motel door was, eyes paranoid and confused.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Why was he awake.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And then</p>
<p> </p>
<p>he looked </p>
<p> </p>
<p>up</p>
<p> </p>
<p>and the center of the ceiling fan he had focused on before in his drunken state</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Looked</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And it blinked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“what the <em> fuck-“ </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>He gripped the sheets at his sides as he stared upward at the horrific sight above him, a golden eye with a slit pupil stared right back down at him before it started laughing, this eye shaping itself in complete glee while a hollow and estranged cackling filled the motel room.</p>
<p>Before the area around him physically <em> drained </em> itself of all the color surrounding him, leaving the motel room around him in a monotonous greyscale. He furrowed his brows in confusion and lifted himself up off his back. The unnamed man sprang up to his feet, pushing down on the bed to rise as quickly as possible and to keep his gaze, aghast, directed upward at this nightmarish abomination. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A nightmare.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This was a nightmare.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was dreaming. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It felt like one.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But yet it didn’t.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It also felt real.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Was that possible?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The eye closed itself and vanished before he heard an echoing voice, the <em> laughing voice </em>, speak to him. It was an amalgamation of all things that made his heart absolutely stop with dread and surrounded him at all angles from within the room. It felt like he was being cornered by this being’s voice, boxed in the motel but if he were to escape outside, he felt as if it would have been there too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<b>Stetson Pinefield? Hal Forrester?</b>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hal Forrester narrowed his eyes and paced in a circle, scanning the room frantically and trying to put a face to the words. “I don’t know who you’re talking about-“ He tried to say before the voice interrupted him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<b>How about Steve Pinington? There’s so many I’m forgetting! I barely scratched the surface! Andrew “8-ball” Alcatraz? You know, I have a buddy who goes by something similar to that!</b>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Steve Pinington backed up towards a corner of the room right after running towards the bed to yank a baseball bat from under the pillows and hold it forward defensively. The pillow flew up and tumbled on the ground as the bat was hastily removed from under it. The man’s eyes darted around with his shoulders hunched. </p>
<p>“Who are you?! I swear to god, I’ll beat the everlastin’ sh-“</p>
<p>The voice started laughing again and Stetson Pinefield’s shoulders fell as he froze, fingers twitching around the handle of the bat, palms sweating against the wood. Andrew “8-ball” Alcatraz exhaled through his mouth, his breath shallow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<b>Zero for four, huh? Haha! Oh no, I’m just kidding! I know exactly who you are!</b>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The air in the room suddenly felt like it had all fallen to the floor as if it were scarce and he had a bit of difficulty breathing. The heat was subsiding and left the atmosphere frigid at first but after a couple of seconds, it didn’t feel like there was any temperature at all. </p>
<p>It was then that the light from the two dim and flickering lamps in the room brightened incredulously, casting a brilliant glow about the room. Their light only became more intense, to the point it had become blinding and he raised his right arm over his eyes as he kept a hold on the bat in his left.</p>
<p>The lampshades themselves had started shaking to a nonexistent wind and the light that hid under them</p>
<p>started to veer away from their corresponding lamp</p>
<p>glitching off their surfaces</p>
<p>manifesting into </p>
<p> </p>
<p>a triangle?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Like the one in the alley.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It then appeared fully in the room, in front of him, bright yellow upon a black and white background, donned with an angular top hat and bow tie, and when it opened its singular eye, a voice was put with a face(?) rather quickly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<b>Stanley Pines! The one and only. It’s about time we finally meet!</b>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 15-13-5-14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p></p>
  <div class="resolved">
    <p> </p>
  </div>
</div><p>Stanley Pines.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stanley Pines nearly dropped the bat at the mention of his old name,</p>
<p>no, </p>
<p>his first and only <em> true </em>name. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Spoken by this horrific being that had just manifested, literally appeared from nothing but light, right in front of him. It was hovering in midair, thin limbs dangling from it (he wondered if they were even attached...)</p>
<p>Eyes widening and eyebrows furrowing, Stanley grit his teeth and raised the bat again in a slowly stabilizing hand. He couldn’t find any words, in fact, his mind was completely and suddenly vacant, save for</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Confusion.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He just stared at the <em> nightmarish </em> (yet dressed very dapper) figment of his imagination in front of him.</p>
<p>“What the absolute <em> fuck- </em>“</p>
<p>“<b>Honestly there were too many to keep track of, usually humans only have one name! I did seem to strike a nerve with the last one, though! Surely this isn’t the first time someone figured that little detail out, but I’ll have you know it’s safe with me!”</b></p>
<p><b>“</b>Holy Moses,” he muttered to himself and gripped his hair with his free hand. “What the hell was in that drink?”</p>
<p>“<b>Nothing out of the ordinary stuff that usually ends up causing human inebriation! Millions of years of your kind’s existence and the moment you all were given conscious thought, you’ve been trying to kill it. That’s when I realized I struck a gold mine in this dimension. Especially with you, Stan Pines!” </b></p>
<p>This being’s words were hollow yet annoyingly surrounding. It’s body, already extruding a golden light, illuminated and dimmed with every word that it spoke. It held a cane in one hand and twirled it over a finger in bliss. It was talking back to him. It was talking <em> back </em>to him? This thing, as unfathomable as it was, spoke back to him and most importantly</p>
<p>How much did it know? His mind went a mile a minute just trying to ingest all that he was burdened within the span of a couple of seconds. it knew about his aliases. He’s never heard more than one in reference to him. All the work he had done to try and keep those hidden-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It knew his name.</p>
<p>It knew he was Stanley Pines.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It spoke in such a high tone, practically dripping with laughter and just a hint of mockery. While the voice was concentrated within the being in front of him, Stanley felt it in both ears and behind his head and even within his own throat. It weighed on his mind to process what he was actually <em> seeing </em>. </p>
<p>Then, in a moment of clarification, he cracked a small smirk. </p>
<p>This was a really <em> fucked </em> up dream is what it was. His subconscious finally getting the better of him, taunting him with some of the more long-term names he’s used in the past, reminding him of where he actually was. <em>Who</em> he actually was. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe he’s finally</p>
<p>finally</p>
<p>lost it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He hasn’t been Stanley Pines since the moment he was kicked out of New Jersey. Since he left his hometown behind. For his mind to remind him of this now, at the moment where he was nearly at the end of his unraveling rope, he would've had to had finally gone off the deep end. He wasn't that right now. He hasn’t even felt like Stanley Pines in years and knew he wasn’t going to be Stanley Pines any time soon. </p>
<p>But, if this was <em> his </em> mind, he might as well play along.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That… you. Are the freakiest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire goddamn life.”</p>
<p>“<b>Why thank you, I try my best!” </b>The being looked proud and straightened it's angular bowtie.</p>
<p><b>“</b>So… what am I seein’ here? What the hell are you? You some sort of repressed monster-under-the-bed-type situation buried deep within my childhood memories or sumthin'?”</p>
<p>The creature hovering started laughing immediately and Stan swore that there were tears brimming at the corners of his lone eye.</p>
<p>“<strong>You wish! And- </strong><b>Oh right! Still not used to a Pines not knowing who I am!”</b></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan stiffened and his smile fell.</p>
<p>A Pines?</p>
<p>What did that even me-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<b>Names Bill Cipher!” </b></p>
<p> </p>
<p>It tipped its top hat and reached out a thin hand for Stan to shake, and Stan, wordless<b>, </b>glanced at the strange appendage, and made eye contact with the other, hesitantly raising his own hand. The creature whipped its hand away as quick as it had come and chuckled, levitating in a circle around Stanley.</p>
<p>“<b>Eager to bargain already! No, No, that’s good news! For both of us, trust me! But not yet. Let’s get to know the other for a bit first!”</b></p>
<p>“I’m not-! I… what?”</p>
<p>Bill vanished with a sharp sound, leaving Stanley disorientated as his eyes darted around the area. He dropped the bat in surprise, hearing the thud of the wood hitting the carpet below him. Suddenly, a small bar materialized in the room, with a shelf behind it that harbored an array of alcoholic beverages and leather barstools in front. The furniture that had once occupied the small motel room had dissipated into nothing leaving only what had come into existence. The bartender, of course, was his triangular acquaintance who poured a drink into a crystallized glass, in which Stan heard the light “tinks” of ice cubes bumping up against the sides and then be absolved by the amber beverage.</p>
<p>“<b>Have a seat, relax a little! We have a lot to talk about, Stanley! I know you have questions and I’ll get to them but it seems as though you’ve been through the wringer lately with your situation we'll get to!”</b></p>
<p>Stan made his way to the bar, copping a seat on one of the stools in front of the glowing triangle. Bill handed him the drink and he took it reluctantly, feeling the cool bite of the glass at his fingertips. The condensation was just starting to form on the outside of the glass and Stan’s mouth watered with how much he absolutely needed it, reminding himself of the New Mexico heat that had, before, made every inch of his skin feel like molten tar. That room temperature beer hadn’t helped him either when it went down his esophagus with a taste and even consistency of straight stomach bile. </p>
<p>He raised the drink to his chapped lips and, trying to forget the beer from earlier, drank from the glass.</p>
<p>It was no less than heaven.</p>
<p>The best bourbon money could buy. That hands could make. He had to stop himself from crying as his taste buds rejoiced in the presence of the refreshing whiskey. Its flavor was so bold and pronounced and Stanley was living for it. He hadn’t even realized he finished the glass before Bill topped him off with another refill. Stan was quiet initially and studied the floating creature. “Thanks but,” Stan started, clearing his throat. “I still don’t understand this one bit. I mean, heh, I get this is a dream and everything-“</p>
<p>“<b>You’re partly right but mostly wrong!</b>” Bill cut him off, a martini glass appearing in his hand and he swirled the liquid inside, an added olive rotating around the rim of the glass. Confused, Stan raised an eyebrow when he saw the triangle’s drink but cringed when the monster’s eye shifted itself into a mouth to drink it and then transform back after the glass was empty. He wondered if he should even ask. He decided it was better not to.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<b>Care for a game of interdimensional billiards to carry this little chat over?</b>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Instantly the bar vanished and the room darkened, leaving behind a pool table, pristine and located in the center of the room, the pool balls neatly already racked up into their three-sided setup. Bill was gleaming, and his cane shifted its appearance into a cue stick. Stan’s eyes widened as his own provided stick appeared in mid-air, hovering just within his reach. He set his glass down on the wood of the table and took the stick in his hand, still maintaining eye contact with the freakshow floating around him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> It wants something. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sure, why the hell not? Have always been a fan of the game.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> It wants something from me.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<b>Perfect! Your break then, Stanley! You get this ball rolling and I’ll answer any questions you might have!</b>”</p>
<p>Stan raised the stick in his hand and aligned a shot with the cue, striking and sending the former arrangement of pool balls scattering across the table. </p>
<p>“Alright, because I got a couple. What do you mean this ain’t a dream? Magical appearin’ bars and pool tables? Honestly makin’ me feel like a kid in a candy store here. On top of that, I bet nothing short of my mind could conjure up such a hideous fuckin’ thing like yourself,” Stan muttered and grinned when two solids were pocketed. He straightened up and meandered around the table to another available shot. “So, what are you exactly?”</p>
<p>“<b>Let's just say I’m not exactly from around here nor am I the definition of one of your tourists! Think of me as being an omen of fortune orrr-"</b> Bill glanced off to the side and rotated it's wrist as it looked for a word. <b> "-a good luck charm!</b>” </p>
<p>“Good luck charm?” Stan snorted and hunched forward, laughing at that as he lowered himself down for a simple shot around one of Bill’s stripes, aiming for it directly. “If you really were a good luck charm you wouldn’t have waited around to introduce yourself.”</p>
<p>“<b>Oh don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen what you’ve gone through! I’ve been keeping an eye on you for a while, Stan, and that’s the reason I’m here now!</b>”</p>
<p>“I still ain’t followin’ ya.” Stanley striked at a striped ball, which ricocheted into the solid 3, pocketing it with ease. </p>
<p>“<b>What I mean to say is that I’m impressed with you. I’ve observed humanity for millions of years, always going about their meaningless daily lives not having accomplished anything. They barely, if ever, contribute to the bigger picture! Your species has a remarkable tendency to die, like, ALL the time. Every time I blink there’s another one dead due to some careless circumstance!</b>”</p>
<p>Stan aimed towards the barrier to hit a solid 2, but it missed, bouncing off the barrier and gliding past the ball in focus. Bill hovered to the striped 11 that Stan had used to pocket the 3 and organized the shot.</p>
<p>“<b>But not you. Not you, Stanley. Especially when the odds were slim to none, you’ve got out of everything and I’ve seen you get out of some pretty tough numbers. It’s honestly relieving that </b> <b> <em>somebody</em> </b> <b> has some common sense to actually keep things a little more entertaining around here. In the other dimensions I’ve come across, there is nothing compared to this place.</b>”</p>
<p>Too easy. The 11 glided in effortlessly.</p>
<p>“Dimensions? Like you’re from space or sumthin’?”</p>
<p>“<b>You’re almost there! Unfortunately, the fact of the matter is I can’t talk to you flesh-bags without entering your dreams. I’m an all-powerful entity with so much at my fingertips and I have connections everywhere with many different life forms and only take notice of what's entertaining at the moment. Luckily, I’ve been watching you at this point! My eyes are everywhere, Stanley!”</b></p>
<p>“Everywhere, huh?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Got to admit, <em> that </em>was a little creepy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<b>Those other humans really did some damage to you, with your ear and all! It’s like they resort to violence because that’s all they have to care for their crippling existence!</b>”</p>
<p>Stan <em> laughed </em> at that. “You’re tellin’ me.” His bravado was strong at first but staggering as he relayed the gravity of the situation. It saw what happened in the alleyway. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Could it have been-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>What was it even doing here?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bill flew over the table and lined up another shot, scattering a couple of the balls gathered together to send the 12 into the bottom right hole.</p>
<p>“So I am dreaming?”</p>
<p>“<b>Technically, yes! You’re unconscious, but I’m very much real. Welcome to the mindscape by the way!</b>”</p>
<p>“Huh. Never woulda figured. Thought I made you up on my own.”</p>
<p><b>“You wish you could imagine something like me. This way I can actually get through to you mortals. I’ve mastered all parts of the mind, and how to effectively manipulate its surroundings. A bit of a gift us otherworldly beings get, the ability to shape the mindscape!</b>”</p>
<p>“Mindscape, eh?” Stan rubbed the stubble on his chin with his forefinger and thumb. “I’ll bite...”</p>
<p>Bill lined up a shot with the 13 and drew the cue stick back,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>before Stan imagined a cigarette in his mouth </p>
<p>and that’s where it spawned.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was then that the stick’s aim slipped, veering the 13 off course and Stan could see at the corner of his vision Bill’s eye <em> widen </em>only slightly</p>
<p>then <em> narrow </em>for what was only one-tenth of a second before it returned back to a casual expression.</p>
<p>“Heh. Whaddya know? This place works for me too.” Stan flicked his thumb up as if it were a lighter, and a small orange flame burned off the end of his fingertip, enveloping the nail as he lit the cigarette which was snugly placed between his lips. </p>
<p>Deciding he could use some touch-ups himself, he imagined himself in a fine-fitting white button-up shirt and a black blazer, complete with matching slacks and dress shoes. The outfit was a lot more snappy than the begrimed tank and boxers he had been wearing before. Even his hair felt cleaner as he felt he was back in his salesman’s best, a proud and open grin erupting on his face.</p>
<p>He redirected his gaze at the triangle, who was silent for just a bit as if it was lost in a momentary thought, but then it laughed at its mistake, twirling the cue stick in its hand.</p>
<p>The laugh was a hollow and bitter thing, yet Stan paused to really study this triangular abnormality and yet he didn’t have much to go off of primarily. If this monstrosity <em> was </em> in fact an alien or even a figment of his imagination, it didn’t have any tells or tricks Stan could identify at first to really <em> get </em> it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He knew humans, very well, in fact, he knew by their body language, by a darting eye, by a twitching finger, the shakiness or a crack in their voice, by even the rise and fall of the wrinkles of clothing covering their chest if they had something to hide. Bill, as it appeared to him, was perfect in this regard, taking a welcoming approach in inviting him to pool and pouring his drink. There was nothing but the post straightening of his angular bowtie that Stan could really <em> read. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Until now. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It talked itself up, boasted and bragged about being some individual of unintelligible power. Its hollow laughter seems to center more around it, not as suffocating as the other bouts of laughter had been before.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This was a very prideful character.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Something that can be knocked off its high horse.</p>
<p>“<b>Your move, Stan! Seems I fumbled mine just a bit!</b>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Bill didn’t expect me to do that. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan breathed out a line of smoke before taking a drink of his bourbon and hit the cue against the 13, knocking the ball out of line for a possible shot and bringing a solid 4 in. He readjusted his grip on the cue stick, as he stood by, bringing the cigarette to his lips once again. His next move was one to redirect the 5 from a corner.</p>
<p>“So, with what I’m gatherin’ is that you’re an all-powerful… omen? from another dimension? A good luck charm, per se, and you’re here ‘cuz of me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<b>Now you’re catching on!” </b>Bill, seeing the 9 and the 10 open in the middle of the table, aimed and shot the cue, sending them both into opposing holes. Bill was one behind Stan and aiming again for the 13.</p>
<p>“Seems kinda… crazy? But why? What do you want from me? And don’t bullshit me, I’ve got a lot on my plate right now.”</p>
<p>“<b>Don’t worry about a thing! I'm a busy guy myself, what can I say?” </b>Bill chimed as he hit the 13 again, but Stan’s 6 bounced off in the result, accidentally sinking the 6 instead. Stan smirked at Bill’s error and strode up to the 2, but pocketing that, based on the cue’s location, could be at risk for a scratch. He’d hoped instead he could use it to hit the 5. </p>
<p>“<b>See Stan, in addition to being a creature naturally in possession of good luck, I’m also a businessman like yourself. I’ve played into the art of the deal and have had many successes, which eventually led me over to the best there was!”</b></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bill’s eye widened as he locked eyes with Stan.</p>
<p>“<b>You.”</b></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan raised a corner lip, puzzled. He chuckled as he knelt down to take his shot. “Look, I'm good at what I do but-“</p>
<p>“<b>I’ve seen you con and swindle person after person, and the money stacked up for a while, didn't it? You see, we think alike when it comes down to it, and that’s why I like you!”</b></p>
<p>Bill seemed to hover around Stanley, his words drawing lines in the atmosphere. </p>
<p>
  <b>“You only lost it all when you tried to multiply it. When you got into trouble. And hey, hard times hit hard! Comeback is a difficult double-edged sword! You have gusto, I’m not denying that! But what would you do if you could have another chance to get out of this lil' setback? What would you say if I said I could get you all the money you could ever make and more?”</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>All the money he could ever make and more.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was generic as a proposal could get, but being as though he hadn’t had a business proposal outside of the ones that had led him into his current situation of hiding away from people that want him dead...</p>
<p>It was a proposal nonetheless. It was familiar. </p>
<p>
  <em> <strike> What would you say if I paid you back all that and more? </strike> </em>
</p>
<p>Stan paused, his vision blurring as he stared off in thought.</p>
<p>He kept some of his old scams in memorabilia, though he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was his pride cutting into his rationality, for they served no purpose outside of reliving cut memories and occupying too much room in his car. The hoarded boxes were even visible in the motel room such as the Stan Vac and other Stan Co merchandise with examples being the shammy’s and the rip-off, just shoved in the corner like garbage.</p>
<p>Not like garbage. They were garbage. </p>
<p>He couldn’t get rid of it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This shit seemed to follow him everywhere, and it was fucking miserable.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But it was that garbage that was <em> supposed </em> to get him home and it failed. It was a plan to make millions off of the coarse minds of other people unlike him. Money was borderline impossible to make, even with all the ambition Stan had <em>and more</em>. </p>
<p>It was all flattery. There was nothing Stan had that could be used efficiently to get everything back. He wasn’t the best at <em> anything. </em></p>
<p>So then why was Bill here?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>What would you say if I said I could get you all the money you could ever make and more?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’d say you’re full of shit.” Stan snapped and tapped the end of the cue stick on the green of the pool table as he lined it up with the cue on the other end. “Look, pal,” He didn't dare face Bill at this point, keeping his eye on the pool table. “I don’t know how much you know about humans, even though you say you’ve been watchin' them for a while, but here’s a little key tip. Money doesn’t just appear out of thin air like it does here.”</p>
<p>He took his shot, knocking the cue against the 5, which brought it closer to the top left basket, the 5 being knocked away on a corner. Stan furrowed his brows and puffed at his cigarette, raising himself up and putting a hand on his hip. </p>
<p>“You can’t summon it out of the nothin’, alright? I'd be lying if I said I hadn’t tried that already.” </p>
<p>“<b>You really think I would do that? Me?” </b> Bill laughed, grinning as best a mouth-less creature could. “ <b>No, no. Not just yet, though I admire your skepticism! Makes me remember I came to the right guy! I have big plans in the works right as we speak and I want you in on them!” </b></p>
<p>The opening Stan made gave Bill the opportunity to sink the 12, leaving the 13, 14 and 15 on his side. His next attempt to hit the 14 only knocked it farther away.</p>
<p>“What are you talkin’ about?”</p>
<p>“<b>I've been working on a little pet project of mine! My previous business partner ended up skipping out on me.”</b></p>
<p>“What’s he? A floatin’ square?” Stan grinned as the cue pushed the 2 in one of the baskets. The 5 was placed between the 13 and the 15, right in front of the middle basket, The 8 towards the right of the 15. Might as well wrap this up. </p>
<p>Bill grinned. “<b>I’d say he is, he had an opportunity of a lifetime and just passed it up! Fame, fortune, recognition, all down the drain! Even though we were in it for the long haul together! I KNOW you know what that’s like. I was completely betrayed.”</b></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan cringed.</p>
<p>
  <em> Wherever we go, we go together. </em>
</p>
<p>“Heh,” Stan finally chuckled and focused on the 5. “S'pose I do.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<b>After being shut down, I needed someone I could trust, and what do ya know! I came across one of your advertisements-“ </b>The message on the cardboard of Stan Co merchandise lit up in a bright blue, glowing amidst the greyscale.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A Name You Can “Trust”!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<b>-So I dropped on by! Thought I could throw down a little ‘you scratch my back I scratch yours’ type of deal. However, I have no use for your kind’s money, but I do know more than you think I do!</b> ” Bill chimed as it snapped and an American dollar bill appeared in front of Stanley, which he took in his free hand. “ <b>You’ll see I even made the front cover in the past! I’d still say the artist failed to recreate my natural looks, but I’d still say they did a good job capturing everything else! With all the good fortune I provided them with, they were generous enough to make me the mascot!”</b></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan studied the back of the dollar bill and glanced between Bill and the Eye of Providence. </p>
<p>It did say it was a good omen and brought good fortune.</p>
<p>What’s better a fortune than money?</p>
<p>“All right,” Stan gruffly spoke with a smile. “I’m listening. What's this project of yours?”</p>
<p><strong>"Great!"</strong> The dollar bill disappeared as Bill carried on. “<b>I’m working on a machine that will really spruce up the place around here! Give you humans a boost in what you already know! Now, you don’t need to build anything, that part’s done</b>. <b>All you need to do is go to where it's located and power things up! I’d do it myself but being a projection in the mind has its drawbacks!”</b></p>
<p>“So it’s like… some big scienc-y gizmo?” Stan’s smile immediately fell and he lined up his shot to the solid 5.</p>
<p>“<b>Almost! Think of it more like a window into another world to be discovered. Creatures like me have always existed underneath the noses of humanity but they’ve never been unearthed! Humans have been so infatuated with newfound paranormal discoveries!” </b></p>
<p>Stan went to strike the 5 in the pocket but the ball was only centimeters off its course to sink it. Cursing under his breath, he stepped away from the table to take another drink. The 8 ball was looming in his corner vision.</p>
<p>“<b>A window into another world would be marketable enough as it is, but with our partnership, we’d bleed so many of this planet’s inhabitants dry in days!</b>”</p>
<p>“What’s in it for you?”</p>
<p>“<b>To be honest, Stan. I’m bored! The mindscape can only do so much to entertain someone like me. I’d like to be well known among the people, maybe even peruse some of your human landmarks! Look, you’ve obviously been around, I have the feeling you know what I’m talking about.</b>”</p>
<p>Stan took a moment to rub the back of his neck. “Look, I don’t have much luck with science projects.”</p>
<p>“<b>You’d let a little luck slip between you and the chance to make millions? For these past ten years, you’ve been dancing on a thin line between success and failure with only your chance. This is an opportunity to increase your luck by a percent even you’ve never seen before!”</b></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan looked down at the table, at the 8 ball. The game was a background now. He had to admit to himself he was <em> intrigued. </em>This could finally be</p>
<p>his big break.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<b>Besides, investing in this project would make a pretty penny. People and all different kinds of brainiacs would come pathetically crawling on their bellies to see your discovery! To have the information you’ve acquired! What allies you have with beings like me! Who can make or break a person’s luck at the snap of their fingers! Imagine people knowing the name Stanley Pines-“</b></p>
<p>Stan redirected his gaze at Bill, the one-eyed triangular omen gleaming with a sick lust for this once-in-a-lifetime bargain. The edges of Bill’s corners then began to change in hue, ever so miraculously, from the shining gold, it was to a bright red and back as his next words were spoken.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<b>- and FEARING it.”</b></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Instantly there was something off about the way it said that.</p>
<p>But Stan laughed regardless. “Would be nice for once.” Finishing his cigarette, he breathed a final line of smoke over the table with a grin before flicking it on the floor and casually stepping on it with the tip of his shoe.</p>
<p>“<b>We both know keeping your pockets lined right now is impossible with your ongoing business strategy, and most importantly, we both know you need some of it right now. Debt doesn’t clean easy!”</b></p>
<p>He was silent and stared off at the pool table, his expression clouded in thought.</p>
<p>“<b>Perhaps we should make a deal! You follow some instructions to activate my project, put it in motion, and I reward you handsomely! Money, Fame, Infinite Power, you name it!”</b></p>
<p>Stanley let a coy, knowing smirk sneak across his face. He had been visited by something that was incomprehensible after all the shit he’s been through. Part of him still thought and rocked on the chance that this was all still too good to be true and it was all in his mind. He imagined passing off a stack full of cash to Rico, slapping it right in the blood-stained greased hands of the man and knowing he was invincible from thereon out. </p>
<p>The project still seemed weighted, with details that he wasn’t sure of himself, but at this point, it could be anything as long as he could sell it. Bill was right, of course, humans would do anything for knowledge if they were curious enough. If something new is brought to attention, people gather like rats. Even if this was all some ploy to launder the actual result of whatever machine Bill had in the works, Stanley wasn’t losing anything important besides his own time. He had plenty of that to spare anyway, it was just an excuse to get out of New Mexico and was a better plan B then seeing the space needle in the first place. He could escape once again and lead Rico and whoever else was after him on an even longer goose chase than what he planned for initially. </p>
<p>Maybe, if this worked, he could actually-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<b>I mean, how else would you manage to get home if you don’t have millions in your pocket anyway?”</b></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan froze. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bill knew?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bill knew.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Of course it does. It's seen everything, right?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Right.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s seen everything.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wait.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p>
<p>“<b>You know I do, so I wouldn’t play dumb so early! I know exactly why you needed to earn money in the first place! This is why I’ve come to help you out!”</b></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Making a deal with someone would be too easy if they knew everything.</p>
<p>They’d know your mechanics. What made you tick.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They could use it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Paying off debt to drug lords, gangs, criminals and gamblers was one thing. Isn't that the situation he’s in?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But then </p>
<p> </p>
<p>This was different. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bill was reaching.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<b>I mean really, Stan! Remember, it was just a small mistake that sent you out here in the first place! Do you need a little reminder of what you’re dealing with here?”</b></p>
<p> </p>
<p>No.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The situation was that he was still trying to get home. Trying to make up for what he's done.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He even forgot it for the longest time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Playing off a false goal of paying back debts.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This was his… identity. The one he erased already. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He never erased it at all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was never gone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was just hiding from it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<b>It’s been quite a while since you’ve been home… You come back with what's on the checklist and you get to fix all this-“</b></p>
<p>The yellow of Bill’s body dimmed and the replacement, a scene pulled itself into view, like a television screen from someone's eyes. It wasn’t directly familiar until a muffled voice put itself into place and Stan, backing away from Bill with hurt and widened eyes, watched helplessly as the memories eased themselves back into place.</p>
<p>It began with someone going up to an opened window overlooking a street. Pulled on both sides of the edge of the window were red curtains. Someone had a pamphlet to a university clutched in their six-fingered hands as they, Stanley saw, peered out of the second story at the scene playing before them...</p>
<p>
  <em> ‘You ignoramus! Your brother was going to be our ticket out of this dump! All you ever do is lie and cheat and ride on your brother’s coattails, but until you make us a fortune, you’re not welcome in this household!’ </em>
</p>
<p>A duffel bag was thrown at a seventeen-year-old boy that had been recently thrown out of his house from the front porch and onto the sidewalk where a 1965 El Diablo convertible was parked and Stanley saw as the boy in the window continued to look down at the pamphlet, the poor ruffian from before on the pavement blurred in their peripheral vision. The boy in the window held the pamphlet close. He held the pamphlet for the university he would never attend.</p>
<p>And couldn’t even look at the other.</p>
<p>
  <em> ‘What?! Stanford, tell him he’s being crazy!’ </em>
</p>
<p>Stanley watched with a sinking heart as the hands pulled the curtains closed.</p>
<p>
  <em> Vouch for him. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Please. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Please help him, Stanford.</em>
</p>
<p>He heard from Bill’s vision everything that happened next (he didn’t need to hear what happened next) as tears fell on the pamphlet. </p>
<p>His brother’s tears.</p>
<p>From outside the curtains came a hoarse and defeated plea. ‘<em>Stanford?</em> <em> Dont leave me hangin’! High six?’ </em></p>
<p>The door slammed and a miserable, angered man marched in and footsteps stomped against the floorboards on the lower level in the house. And then the boy from outside shouted at the top of his lungs, irate yet completely and undeniably betrayed, '<em> Fine! I can make it on my own! I don’t need you! I-' </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t need anyone!” Stanley suddenly yelled. An enraged expression contorted his face as he slammed his fist against the table. The glass of whiskey that sat neatly on the side toppled over, the glass shattering all over the floor. Bill’s triangular form returned to its intensified yellow hue as Stanley raved, absolutely boiling.</p>
<p>“You’re bringin’ up things you don’t understand! Things you’ll never understand! I’ll make millions myself and I don’t need this deal to do it!” Stan waved an arm across himself for emphasis as he pointed at Bill. “Whatever you’re diggin’ for in my psyche, it ain’t gonna work to your benefit! I’ve seen this shit before, Bill! And I know how the cons play this game!” Stanley stomped towards Bill with unbreaking eye contact and he ranted. </p>
<p>“I ain't agreein’ to anything long as you think you got me wrapped around your finger like if you did have something to hide about your project and I found o-“</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stopping himself short, Stan realized. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He huffed and a sarcastic and hollow chuckle built up beneath his ribs and through his chest before grumbling the rest with a raspy and knowing voice.</p>
<p>“There’s something... there's something else going on with your plan if you’re that desperate to play like that. You need <em> me for something </em>I don’t fully understand and you don't plan on explainin’. You're tryna keep me in the dark about somethin' and hoped I'd tag along. ” </p>
<p>He watched as Bill’s eye narrowed and the hue that emanated off its body go bright crimson. The whites of its eyes darkened to a blackened husk, the pupil copying that red of its triangular form.</p>
<p>Stan felt swallow nervously and he clenched his fists, putting on a brave glare for what Bill was going to say to him. Do to him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But the anger never blossomed past a moment where the monster seemed to process everything that was just said to it.</p>
<p>In fact, Bill just</p>
<p>started <em> laughing </em>once again,</p>
<p>genuine and full, shifting slowly back to what was the yellow normal for this being of 'good fortune.'</p>
<p>“<b>You really don’t disappoint, Stan Pines! You’ve made things a lot more interesting than what they needed to be, and you’ve honestly surprised me!” </b>Bill chimed in that familiar giddy and inane tone.</p>
<p>After what just happened, Stan was sick of it.</p>
<p>
  <b>“Sure, there’s a lot more behind the curtain. I’ll admit that because you were smart enough to figure it out yourself.”</b>
</p>
<p>Stan’s expression was stone and unchangeable as he breathed in a silent rage, nostrils flaring.</p>
<p>“<b>You’re not manipulated easily. It’s a good change of pace, but you’re also a lot smarter than what I got to see of you before. My preview wasn't all that accurate in light of the actual show. Humans usually cave under all that emotional pressure, especially with all that's happened to you! Aw well, this won't be the last time we see each other, Stan. Let me give you this before you make a final decision-</b>“</p>
<p><b>“</b>I’m not takin’ i-“</p>
<p>
  <b>“My previous business partner and I were racing to get to you first. You’ve heard my side and if you think you can’t trust me and what I’ve got planned, his proposal is gonna hurt way worse- for you. His message is actually on its way now, if you’re curious! I’d just think twice before jumping on it, though.”</b>
</p>
<p>Stan’s livid expression fell into one that was more resentful if anything.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Racing to get to me? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<b>Now that you had to get smart, we finally get to see each other’s true colors. Here’s a warning for you, Stanley! I'm not someone you want to mess with! With everything I’ve been working towards, you want me on your side more than I want you on mine.”</b></p>
<p>Then the mindscape started to whiten at the edges, Stan stumbled frantically backward to look around as he dropped the stick from his hand.</p>
<p>“What’s going on?!”</p>
<p>“<b>Looks like somebody’s waking up! I guess this is my ‘cue’ to go! And remember Stanley-“</b></p>
<p>The clouding atmosphere expanded, and everything that was visible began to disappear with it as Stan locked his eyes with Bill’s.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<b>An open mind never hurt anyone!”</b></p>
<p> </p>
<p>As the mindscape cleared, Bill deteriorated in an array of blue prisms. Stan was left dazed and alone once more.</p>
<p>He watched, gritting his teeth as the unsunken 15, 13, 5, and 14 rolled across the table, in order in front of his eyes. Stumbling a step forward, he reached out for them before he jumped back, repulsed as they started melting into the fabric of the table. The oranges, green and brown mixing into each other before waning off into nonexistence.</p>
<p>The last things he saw were the 8 and the cue ball left untouched on the pool table. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>After even after the table vanished, they were still there, floating in his vision.</p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Here's a longer chapter! Honestly a big fan of Stan and Bill interacting because their personalities overlap too much. So it's an interesting dynamic and a big mystery on where a casual deal would go in comparison to a big end-of-the-world type trick. I figured it wouldn't be easy to sway Stan into anything when faced with a situation so incomprehensible like meeting a dream demon and Bill does try something that eventually backfires-for now. He's thinking Stan and Ford are too much alike when in reality they are very very different and he gets a big dose of reality.</p>
<p>Also also symbolism hits big different so there's some of that thrown in there :D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Postcard</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There was a pounding at the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was an abrupt and short-lived sound.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That’s all it took for Stan to jolt awake, his eyes wide and reflexes acting fast to clumsily grab for the ground below him, hand brushing against the carpet and reaching for any method of defense. His fingers grazed the wood of the bat, and he clutched it in an iron grip as he got on one of his knees, raising the bat over his shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“J-Just give me a few more days, Rico! I’ll pay your goons back I swear!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he could even comprehend the circumstances (and cringe from how absolutely unprepared his unstable voice made him seem at the moment), a medium-sized card slipped through the mail slot of the motel door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was still in the room, isolated amongst his own thoughts and fear,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As well as on the floor, previously sloppily laying against the wall in a corner of the area. Now his weight was on his knee and he was leaned forward as the bat was held in his ever trembling grip. When he saw the letter, he went slack-jawed and his face softened just a bit in curiosity. Nobody had come for him- yet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just a postcard on the ground addressed to his location. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A postcard?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was the least of his expectations right now. He squinted at it before glancing back at the corner in which he obviously fell asleep by <strike>rather than the bed which he could have sworn he was laying in previousl</strike>y...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>How’d I get on the floor?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Staggering and tripping over his ankles whilst grabbing the edge of the bed on his left for support, Stan did the best he could to climb to his feet, gather his footing, and rush with the armed bat in hand to put an eye through the peephole in the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A mailman got in his car, throwing a knapsack into the passenger seat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan sighed and turned around, his back against the wood as he tried to calm himself down from the previous alarm clock of his panic. He felt his heart continue to race after being so suddenly awoken to the possible threat Rico had already made his way from Columbia, had tracked him down, and was already plotting to pick his teeth with Stan’s severed bones. Hearing the car start, Stan took a breath in, as long as he could muster, through his nose, and held it in his lungs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he exhaled, it passed his lips as a whistle and he slumped against the door, defeated, his hands going limp as the bat slipped past his roughened palms and onto the carpet below.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was ok.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>God, his back was killing him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Goddamn it,” Stanley grumbled and rubbed first at his forehead and around his temples, his greased earthly russet hair trailing over his fingers. The back of his head hit the wood as he tipped it back. “What the hell happened last night?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not last night. It was night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The room was cloaked in a claustrophobic red being illuminated from the motel neon lights in the solemn darkness of the outside. They bled into the room by the same cracked blinds as before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He dragged his hand down his face as he was finally coming through to his senses. As his rationality returned in place of the hysteria, so did the throbbing on the side of his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan winced and hissed as he felt the soreness and the slight swelling in his hand as he gripped the side of his head. His eyes shut tight as he curled an upper lip around grit teeth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ah, that's right. There were still the injuries Stan had received from Willy and his boys from outside the bar. He wasn't sure at this point if it was a perforated eardrum, but it sure stung like one. He was just glad it seemed mild enough that he wouldn't have to worry about it too much rather than just waiting for it to heal on its own. It was just gonna be an annoying hindrance at this point that came with the bonus of some of his other bruises from the beating like the one at his ribs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still didn’t answer why he woke up sprawled out with his back to the motel wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> he woke up to a god damn postman of all things slipping something into his room at what-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Squinting, Stan caught the time on a flashing bedside clock that was nestled behind a telephone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>10:37 pm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span> was a postman still doing out in the first place? Making his rounds this late? That was off in itself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hands dropped to his sides as his eyes opened fully and he gazed downward at the card that he stepped over when making his way to the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stanley knelt down, gently taking the postcard in his grasp, narrowing his eyes as he read what was labeled on the sleek and slightly wrinkled card. The letters were bold underneath his dirt-encrusted nails.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Gravity Falls. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Raising an eyebrow in a puzzled expression, he flipped the card over.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And nothing could have prepared him for the level of shock that flew through his mind as he stood up straight when he mouthed the words on the card in disbelief. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Please Come! -Ford.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Stanford wanted him to come to Gravity Falls, Oregon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span><em>His brother</em> wanted to <em>see him</em> after more than ten years of nothing. No messages back and forth nor calls (if Stanley didn’t get cold feet in all of those attempted). </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the looks of his hastily written message rather than his typical well-written cursive (if he still wrote in cursive-! He didn’t know, Stanley hadn’t seen his brother since high school) it sounded urgent. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It could be a matter of days before he got there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could slim that down if he just didn’t sleep, and that was absolutely no problem for him to accomplish with the guard he’s put up. It wouldn’t be such a bad idea to scrounge up enough money for coffee either if he could. He already checked the motel room and there was nothing but lint and trash from others that had stayed here before. The moment he could get out to his car he’d map out a route as quick as he could, setting a course for Oregon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(He wondered if he should route towards Colorado and Utah when he gets out of this state, or should he target Arizona and pass through Nevada? Considering he was banned in more states with his last option, it would be safer to go with the former, where he would just skim pass Colorado to get into Utah if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> avoid the cops…)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Stanford wanted him to come back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He wanted to see him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Stanley without a second thought snagged his duffel bag and started shoving unwashed clothes in (and whatever other items that were in the room, some his own and some that surely won’t be missed…) as well as slipping the same dried mud-caked jeans on and the t-shirt from last night. He sat on the bed and slid some socks on his bare feet, his last three toes poking through a hole on his right foot, and his last pair of boots.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Stanford wanted to see him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A hopeful smile spread across Stan’s face as he gathered some of his merchandise littered about the room together. He’d just throw it all in the car so there wasn’t such a big need to get too organized.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His brother had sent him an actual, physical card. Finally! After all this time he’d actually gotten a message-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A message.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“My previous business partner and I were racing to get to you… his message is on its way now if you’re curious…”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That dream…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It all came flooding back to him, or the bits and pieces he could scrape up in a half-attempt to process everything that happened earlier… from the encounter with Willy’s gang to the postcard to-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The creepy and unnatural hovering triangular monster his brain summoned into an imaginary existence between sleep and awake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With the voice that managed to smile on its own, embodying an insane giddiness and a deal for marketing millions…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>False millions. Artificial fame. Fictionalized business with a faux partnership. Fake chances for a phony future.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was only a dream, after all. None of that really happened. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eh, he denied it in the end, hadn’t he? It was too much of a godsend, even to his subconscious. A hack for hope and his mind was able to identify and recognize it at an eventual glance. If he knew it was too good to be true even in his dreams, that was just borderline pathetic.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damn his dreams to hell for their high expectations. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Whatever.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t matter.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But how could it have predicted Ford’s message?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Coincidence.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Now get out of here already.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He just had to get out of here and get a headstart on his way…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To see his twin brother in Gravity Falls, Oregon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stanley flung his duffel bag over his shoulder and practically sprinted out the motel, reaching into his back pocket for his keys and unlocked the car. He tossed his belongings into the passenger seat and the back, hearing the boxes tumble among the leather seats and emptying his room with as much haste as he could muster at the moment in his current state of shock and hopefulness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The last of his belongings were flung carelessly in the backseat of El diablo and Stan smirked, proud that he was going to be leaving this dump of Dead End Flatts tonight. With a plan. Feeling his pockets for his keys once again, he discovered he had two sets. One for El Diablo and one for the room. Snickering to himself, he turned back toward the motel room to chuck them on the bed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Before stopping in his tracks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The beam of light from the motel sign was still shining into the room through the cracked blinds…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But had it always made a triangular shape on the back wall of the room?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Had it always been so foreboding? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Had it always been</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>looming over him while he sat, unconscious, against that same wall?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His face fell aghast with realization and drowning trepidation...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Small beads of sweat formed on his forehead and the back of his neck as his breath caught in his throat right below his uvula...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan stood in the doorway, footing spread wide in an almost defensive stance as he clutched the postcard in a firm hand by his left side and an enclosed fist at his right. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You want me on your side more than  I want you on mine-“</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His gaze fell downward.</p>
<p>
  <span>“Feh,”  Stanley quickly scowled and in an exacerbated huff of annoyance, threw the motel keys on the bed and slammed the door behind him, hastily getting into the car. </span>
  <span>“Quit makin’ yourself believe these stupid things, you knucklehead," Stan grumbled to himself. "They ain't real."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With that, Stanley cranked El Diablo in reverse, the red paint brilliantly aglow in the formidable same-colored light before he sped off, his wheels screeching against the pavement below.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yet...</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Even though it wasn’t real.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t help the feeling he was, in fact, being watched.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Meeting with the Pawn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p></p>
  <div class="resolved">
    <p> </p>
  </div>
</div><p>If that triangle thing was in fact, real,</p>
<p>It hadn’t shown its face since.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>El Diablo drove down the road of this little Oregon town, which was on the onslaught of a winter white hellscape. The tone-shift was nice at first, from an irregularly hot winter in New Mexico’s standards to the ever-increasing chill to his bones the farther north Stan drove. The town had been silent and desolate, with not one person walking around once he drove in. He had a gut feeling since the amount of snow on his windshield was seemingly duplicating itself every couple minutes that there was gonna be a storm and the townsfolk were in their homes, nestled safely in preparation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fucking wonderful.</p>
<p>This is just what the doctor ordered.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once he dropped by in Idaho, he had fished out a worn-out burgundy hoodie from under the seat on the passenger's side in his car. It had been a while of traversing the southern states of really using it aside from the occasional cooler night in the summer, but in the other seasons like fall and winter, it made for a great substitute blanket. He even hand-sewed in a couple of extra pockets for an upgrade on the better shop-lifting trips, but otherwise, he hadn’t worn it much recently- in spite of the sweltering heat that was the real enemy in his travels in the south.</p>
<p>The trees around the road seemed to swallow the car the further he went and Stan’s once emotionless eyes narrowed at the snow that slowly built itself up on the sides of the dirt route, which didn’t look very hopeful for when he drove further up Gopher Road. He had taken a left turn from town onto a bridge that loomed over a steadily freezing river and assumed that it was going to be a simple drive after, judging on the well-kept condition of the bridge, but as Stan pushed on, his expectations were dropping. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It surprised him that Ford was living here. </p>
<p>In this place...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Such a small spot on the map and incredibly easy to bypass. There’s no doubt Ford made it big with his research while finding a school to attend. Sure, yeah, it wasn’t the <em>big one</em> with all the bells and whistles of nerd <em>paradise</em> but it had to be <em> some place </em> that could appreciate his brilliance. Ford had enough intelligence to send an entire community of hicks to the moon. Maybe that's why he was here in this nowhere town? Perhaps to easily make a comeback from that hard fall and craft a backup plan, such as in the past when his projects malfunctioned or backfired (save for that <em> one time </em>). If he knew his twin enough; Ford was quick on his feet and always thinking of sensible ways to re-route when gravity flipped and something turned upside down.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>right?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>unless... Stan jeopardized everything more than what he could have ever imagined...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>which is why Ford was out here…</p>
<p>in this town in the middle of nowhere.</p>
<p>With no one else to take his genius seriously,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His grip tightened on the steering wheel, his fingers twitched against it and his chest tightened in a concealed dread. Stan furrowed his eyebrows as he took a steady breath in. “M’sure everything’s fine,” he muttered to himself. </p>
<p>The snowstorm was strengthening and the windshield wipers on El Diablo thundered in an off-kilter drumbeat that only pressed Stan’s anxiety further into the mercy of the falling blizzard. He was in a horror movie and squinted against the storm before his vision was shrouded in blankets of unyielding white. </p>
<p>It wasn’t much longer down this route when his wheels started slipping from under him, trying and failing to gain impossible traction on the fresh snow. “Fuck-!“ Stan growled and came to a gradual stop, putting the car in park while keeping the engine running momentarily. He huffed and kept his gaze locked on the windshield of the car, thundering back and forth and back and forth, the snow already piling up along the hood in its attempt to bury El Diablo. Breathing through trembling parted lips, Stan attempted to gain composure as he contemplated what this meant for the rest of his journey to see Ford. He’d have to abandon the ol' girl here and walk the rest of the road until he got to the house. Hesitantly, Stan turned the key and the engine ceased.</p>
<p>“Everythin’s gonna be alright. Ford’s probably already stockpiled and is gonna have a heater runnin’... maybe we talk over drinks or sumthin’... Maybe he even has a little cat or dog to pet. It's gonna be ok. It's gonna be fine. Just get out of the car.” Stan persuaded himself, his voice unintentionally shaking because of the cold that began to seep in the moment the engine was cut.</p>
<p>“Get. Out. Of the car.” He muttered and locked his grasp against the handle of the door and turned it, the door popping open and Stan practically dragging himself out. It was even colder out in the open, a subject in the freshly falling snow. Grabbing some gloves from his duffel bag, he set the bag back down on the driver’s seat. He turned away from it for a bit before he ended up just snagging the duffel bag as well and flung it over his shoulder. If the storm was gonna keep coming, he'd imagine he'd be staying in this little logging town for awhile. Stan shoved the keys in the right pocket of his jacket against the, probably now, crumpled postcard before locking El Diablo up. </p>
<p>He slammed the car door in frustration, looking out at the snow-covered road and grumbling to himself. “Oh yeah, Ford, couldn’t'a waited ‘til spring? I bet a secluded forest is lovely that time of year and much less difficult to navigate or get stuck in.”</p>
<p>Stan huffed, agitated, but it was a steel mask against the nervousness that ate at all the nerves in the body. It didn’t take long for the snow to gather on his shoulders and his unkempt hair and the black beanie he wore, so Stan raised the hood of his jacket over his head as he started his trek into the woods, leaving El Diablo behind. The boots left a pathway of trudging prints behind him as he staggered into the flurry. Lumbering in the frozen wasteland, hearing the sound of the snow being packed under his boots with every step, Stan gazed at the passing trees surrounding him while he breathed foggy billows from out of his mouth. The trees, limbs sagging with what weight they carried of the snow, stood tall and bent over him as if they were kneeling in to hear what he was going to say. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>What was he going to say when he saw Stanford?</p>
<p>It’s been over ten years. Give or take.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hey, sorry about ruining your chances to attend your dream school, I’m homeless and being tracked right now by a bunch of criminals who want to paint the freeway with me, can you help?</p>
<p>no.</p>
<p>Hey, what’s up, Sixer! I got your postcard and if somethings wrong, I’m here to help ya but I kind of need a place to stay until someone I owe a lot of money to hunts me down..?</p>
<p>also no.</p>
<p>Fuck, why was this so hard?</p>
<p>He hasn’t seen his brother in so long. That’s why.</p>
<p>Just say hello. If his past mistake comes up, just roll with it. </p>
<p>Just try to, at least.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was when he saw the outline of a darkened cabin in the blizzard did he begin to speed up. His nose and cheeks were reddening in effect from the cold, the bags under his eyes from lack of sleep only were more pronounced from the drive here. He dreaded seeing his brother this way only because he was at a dead end and he couldn’t imagine the successes his brother acquired for himself. Quite possibly it was one of those cabins with lots of bookshelves and shit inside. Brainiac material that was organized neatly, right down to the definition of "library" and placed right beside a roaring fireplace with a nice warm cup of coffee set on the top and maybe a couch and-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Oh</p>
<p>god.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan stopped, removing the hood from his head, his feet planted in the snow, and the cold seeping in through the holes in his socks through to his feet. He was breathless and bewildered at the scene before him. It was a cabin, newly structured but lined all around the front was yards of barbed wire fencing and satellites and communication devices. One of them, a radio antenna by the looks of it, had a light at the end of the pole that was a stagnant red. A sign was staked into the ground to his left that read in bold and paranoid letters-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>STAY OUT.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Glowering suspiciously, his mind raced through explanations.</p>
<p>This… couldn’t be the place?</p>
<p>But it was; the address was right.</p>
<p>This couldn’t possibly be right.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan’s eyes drifted upwards to a boarded-up triangular window that must have been to the second story of the cabin.</p>
<p>For some reason, he sensed a calamitous and ominous aura of danger and it made the hairs on his body stand on end. Stan felt the panic set in and his heart seemingly pressed against his chest as if it was about to burst with its heartbeat. He swore he could hear it in the midst of the blowing wind of the storm.</p>
<p>Whoever was inside was terrified of something on the outside. Something with ill intentions. Something that wasn’t right. If this was Ford’s house then something terrible must have happened and he was in dire need of help.</p>
<p>Stan's mind reached white noise when all explanations he could muster up in his mind of why this was his brother’s house and why it was like this in the first place rocked through his skull. Also, he had seen the triangular window and got a pale reminder of his dream. The dream, of course, was just that, but it was a circumstantial coincidence that scratched at his brain. The horror of that just added on to the plot twist that this was in fact his twin’s residence and he was about to find out <em>why</em>.</p>
<p>Stan’s heart dropped in his stomach as he neared the front door, and tried not to look at the <b>NO TRESPASSING</b> sign that was bolted onto the wood. He breathed firmly out his nose as he forced a smile to calm his nerves like he usually would in a situation such as this, but it did little to aid him. His fist clenched as he glanced downward in hopefulness that maybe he could help now that he was here.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You haven’t seen your brother in over ten years. It’s ok. He’s family. He won’t bite.”</p>
<p>He knocked firmly twice but the door swung open inwards before he could knock a third time. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What is it?! Have you come to steal my eyes?!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan took an alarmed step back and held an arm up out in front of him in defense before he realized all too quickly he was face to face with the end of a crossbow, the arms of which were pulled back to an extreme degree, and Stan felt a sudden panic when glancing to the string of the bow straining under the tension. </p>
<p>The voice that shouted at him was frantic and alarmed,</p>
<p>accompanying a face that was just like his own</p>
<p>but it was worn from obvious extreme sleep deprivation. Stan’s brown eyes</p>
<p>stared back into those that were just like his own</p>
<p>except they were stretched wide in a paranoid and furious gaze. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His brother. </p>
<p>His brother wouldn’t shoot him.</p>
<p>Of course he wouldn't.</p>
<p>But holy Moses,</p>
<p>Was that <em> really </em>necessary?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, I can always count on you for a warm welcome.” Stan spoke sternly, and Ford’s eyes drifted from previously locked with Stan’s to darting around him... like he was scanning the forest in which his twin had just emerged from. He looked like he was on the brink of insanity, right to the point of snapping (don't think about the crossbow) and it unnerved Stan to the point of shuffling back just a bit before Ford spoke again in a startling grave tone. </p>
<p>“Stanley, did anyone follow you? Anyone at all?” He lowered the crossbow and leaned it against the wall on the inside of the house (to Stan's silent relief). </p>
<p>Of course. Jumping <em> right </em> into it. Good ol’ six-fingers.</p>
<p>“Eh, hello to you too, pal.” </p>
<p>Out of nowhere, Stan felt two hands clasp the fur collar on his winter jacket and he yelled out in surprise when he was yanked roughly into the doorway.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And then blinded. A strong light was being shined into each one of his eyes and he squinted against it before his brow lowered in irritation. His brother was looking into his eyes for <em> something </em> and he wasn’t sure, but he was pissed and confused all the same. In any other circumstance, whatever asshole was brave enough to do that would have to clean their face up after a brutal left hook, but this was different. </p>
<p>“Ah! Hey! What is this?!” He shoved at his brother’s chest and, while squinting, blinked his eyes repeatedly, waiting for his pupils to dilate after they recovered the constriction from the onslaught of whatever <em> that </em>display was. And then, of course, the shapes from the light that lingered in his vision whenever he blinked were irritatingly there.</p>
<p>Stan heard a flashlight fall from his brother’s hand onto the floorboards and only felt his anger growing as Stanford took steps back away from him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> This is what I get for coming all the way here? </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Ain’t much of a formal and happy greeting. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sorry, I had to make sure you weren’t-” Stanford paused slightly before shaking his head. “-It’s nothing. Come in, come in.” Turning tail, Ford held the opening of his trenchcoat desperately close to his chest as he waved Stan into the cabin and walked briskly inside. Stan hesitantly followed, taking a gander at what was littered about the shack. </p>
<p>His footsteps echoed with Ford’s against the wood flooring as he ingested exactly what was surrounding him. This was some sort of research cabin, not too different from what Stan would expect Ford to divert to initially based upon the knowledge he had of him as a teenager, except it appeared as though the storm from outside had made its way in here as well. There were papers littered everywhere, defaced with incomprehensible scribbles, formulas, and diagrams. Graphing tools and books stacked high and shoved against the walls only held more degrees to a series of items including deformed creatures in jars and other sciency objects that Stan couldn’t wrap his head around at the moment.</p>
<p>Upon entering, there was a white lab coat and gloves stuffed in the pocket hanging on a coat rack to Stan’s right and he pondered if the flashlight was some… test of some kind? One that would have involved a lab coat if Ford had found… what exactly? To his left was the crossbow; still pulled back and at the ready, leaning against the wall where Ford put it down initially. Stan grimaced and turned away, following his brother and shutting down any questions that popped up in his mind besides the main concern.</p>
<p>“Look, are you going to explain what’s goin’ on here? You’re actin’ like mom after her tenth cup of coffee.” Stan said as he followed Ford to a desk that was cloaked with a deranged amount of clutter. Ford grabbed a large leather-bound book off the table in his hands.</p>
<p>“Listen, there isn’t much time, I’ve made <em>huge mistakes</em> and I don’t know who I can trust anymore.” He turned towards Stan, who noticed a very serious tone in his twin’s voice that, if it was there before, had only amplified into something that sounded very <em>scared</em>. When Ford did whip around towards him, a paper had flown out from underneath the journal and onto the floor. Stan’s eyes tracked it and glanced at it before Ford stumbled past him. He was obviously disturbed, by something or someone and wasn’t giving Stan anything to work with. There had to be a reason.</p>
<p>“Whoa, easy there,” Stan said before putting a comforting hand on Ford’s quaking shoulder. “Let’s talk this through…” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But he trailed off when he did a double-take at the paper that had fluttered off the desk.</p>
<p>It was a diagram, just like many that littered his brother’s cabin…</p>
<p>But this one, when he glanced at it,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>it seemed to glance back at him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stanley?” Ford turned around towards Stan, a look of concern masking his previously terrified expression. His voice shook with curiosity and dread.</p>
<p>“...Hey, I know this guy.” Stan muttered and crouched down, picking up the paper in his hands. He rose to his feet and examined it with narrowed eyes. It was a diagram, drawn viciously in some kind of <em>reddish-brown</em> ink with different codes strewn around the paper...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>of one very familiar omen of fortune.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Know who? What is that, Stanley?”</p>
<p>Stan tilted the paper slightly and Ford peered over his shoulder at the paper.</p>
<p>“I saw it in a dream or sumthin’. I dunno. Freaky lookin’ thing, but I just blamed it on what I was drinking that night,” Stan let out a nervous chuckle. “Question is how do you know about it? Have we seen it somewhere I ain’t remem-“ Stan cut himself off when he side-eyed his brother and turned to face him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And his blood ran cold, seizing like ice in his veins as his heartbeat froze over.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stanford’s skin flushed completely pale, his gaze twisted in a mangled terror that was the most fearful dismay that Stan had ever seen on his brother’s face. With how wide his eyes were at the moment, he could see every blood vessel. His twin’s bloodshot eyes stared at Stan as if he had just maimed a person right in front of him. Ford’s teeth were exposed and he ground the back molars as he took unsteady steps back on unbalanced feet, holding the journal in his hand with a suffocating grip. He was whispering to himself like a madman, backing away while keeping his gaze fixed on Stan.</p>
<p>“I thought I stored all of them away… he’s been watching the whole time… he’s been watching the <em>whole</em> time… Oh god… he watched me call him here… he got to him first...” Stan could hear a few of his twin’s mumbles and he was immediately concerned.</p>
<p>“W-what...? Hey, Y-You alright, Sixer?”</p>
<p>“<em> Don’t </em>. I don’t want to hear another fucking word from you!” Ford suddenly snapped.</p>
<p>Stanley’s mouth shut abruptly as his eyes shot back and forth between the triangular monstrosity on the paper and his paranoid brother, his eyebrows raised in shock.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Did I say something I shouldn't have? It couldn't have been the paper, right? If so, why is it here in the first- </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I had a feeling I couldn’t trust you! I was a fool to even <em> think </em>I could trust you! I can’t trust anyone! You’re working with him, aren’t you?!” Stanford pointed furiously at Stan with his free hand.</p>
<p>Stan was stunned and raised both his hands, letting the drawing of the triangle float to the floor. “Whoa, whoa, hey! you’ve got the wrong idea. I ain’t workin’ with nobody-!”</p>
<p>“You’re lying! He would target you. <em> You </em> of all people <em> would </em> fall into his traps! And better yet, you have access to me! What’d he give you?!” Ford then rushed at Stan, screaming. The journal tumbled to the ground, landing on its spine as Ford dropped it and grabbed the collar of Stan’s coat. Stan was petrified as he stared at his brother’s crazed and tired eyes.</p>
<p>But then, Stan bared his teeth in a scowl, confused yet diverging to being more defensive. Ford continued to ramble on, shouting in his twin’s face. </p>
<p>"What'd he give you, Stanley?!"</p>
<p>"I didn't get nothing-!"</p>
<p>“Money?! Power?! A side-chair in his apocalypse?! I bet he had you drive here just to get the last of my journals! My postcard probably never even got to you because you were already on your way here! He wanted you because he can’t get anything from <em> me </em>anymore!”</p>
<p>“What the <em> fuck </em> are you going on about?!” Stan roared, trying to pull away from Ford before his twin's grip only grew <em>tighter</em> around the collar of his coat, pulling him close in a hellbent rage, their noses mere centimeters apart. The volume in Ford's voice only grew louder the more noncompliant Stan was to answer.</p>
<p>“You agreed on a deal with him, correct?! That’s how you know about him! You’re here about my journals and my research! You’re here to give him what <em>he wants</em>! What was it, Stan? WHAT'D HE GIVE YOU?!”</p>
<p>“I didn’t make any deal with that thing, Stanford!” Stan finally shoved Ford off of him and took a couple of wary steps back. “I didn’t buy into its little scams if they were even important! It was just a dream! I don't even know how you know about it!”</p>
<p>“That’s how he communicates with you- by dreams! He-“</p>
<p>“You’re talkin’ about that little triangle freak, right? With the hat and shit? Ok, yeah, it came to me in a dream and said what you did, that it was there for an agreement and yadda yadda. Because guess what, Poindexter?" Stan gestured with both his hands in the air. "That thing was a <em>terrible</em> goddamn liar and it left as soon as I told it to take a hike! I didn’t accept anything it said! Only an <em>idiot</em> could fall for that cheat!”</p>
<p>Stanford’s face softened as his mouth clamped shut and he stiffened, looking immediately to the side when Stan said that last bit. </p>
<p>“I don’t even know what’s going on here or what he’d even want with you or your ‘journals,’” Stan made quotations with his fingers. “I didn’t fall for <em> anything </em>! He just said some shit and needed help because his last business partner bailed on him out of nowhere and-!” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The message.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The dream was real. </p>
<p>The coincidence was no coin flip by the way Ford reacted. By the way he <em>knew.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ford kept looking away from Stan and put a hand over his mouth, trembling.</p>
<p>Stan’s eyes widened and he raised a finger to point at Ford in disbelief. “Hold on. You-“</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ford nodded, taking a shaky breath in as he removed his hand and crouched down, picking the journal back up. He pinched the corners of his eyes under his horn-rimmed glasses and discreetly wiped his hand on his coat. “H-how,” Ford cleared his throat and stared back at Stan. “How do I know you’re not lying?”</p>
<p>Stan scowled. “Why would I lie to you about something like this? Something that obviously has you scared that I don't understand?!”</p>
<p>“Please, Stanley.”</p>
<p>“Fine.” Stan dug in the pocket in his coat and pulled out the postcard behind his car keys. He frustratingly presented it to Ford, basically shoving it in his face. Ford glanced from the card to Stan and his free hand fell limp at his side. “I got this right after that abnormal corn chip visited me and I shut him down on his proposal. You two want my help. And I wanna know why.”</p>
<p>“Stanley.”</p>
<p>“Why, Ford? <em>What’s goin’ on</em>? Answer me, goddammit! I deserve that, at least!”</p>
<p>“This will all be explained, trust me. Just-“ Ford took a deep breath. “What do you know about him?”</p>
<p>“About the triangle?” Stan asked, crossing his arms. Ford solemnly nodded. “Alright. So it pops into my mind one night while I was drinkin' with all this insane bullshit and introduces itself. Somethin’ so batshit crazy but normal soundin’. Phil Sci-fi? Gill Chaffer? Somethin’ like that-“</p>
<p>“It’s Bill. Bill Cipher.”</p>
<p>“Ah right. Cipher. Gotta admit I came kinda close.” Stan smirked.</p>
<p>“What’d he say to you?”</p>
<p>“He started ramblin’ about being an <em>omen</em> of good luck and all. Talkin’ himself up.”</p>
<p>“Did you believe him?”</p>
<p>“Fuck no. Ford, you gotta understand, before I came here that lil’ parasite was just a wacky part of my subconscious playin’ tricks on me.”</p>
<p>“How many times have you seen him? Was it just the one dream?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. But I dunno,” Stan rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I’ve been getting this funny feelin’ I’ve seen him more… or that he’s seen me? Let’s just say I’ve seen a lot more triangles recently? I know that sounds crazy-“</p>
<p>“No!!" Ford exclaimed, making Stan jump slightly. Ford cleared his throat as he continued. "No, Stanley. It’s what he does. Trust me, I know. It’s not crazy. This is real and he’s watching… I’m just sort of surprised but now that I think about it, it’s the perfect scheme. For him to go to you. To target you.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, well, it ended up not flyin’ in the end so I guess it must have not been that perfect if I’m helpin’ you now.”</p>
<p>“What did he ask of you?”</p>
<p>“Huh?”</p>
<p>“What was the deal he laid out for you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan paused, stricken back by the question before he let his mind wander.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Millions of dollars in cash. Allies to be there for me. A way back home. Not being an outcast anymore. Being accepted back by my twin brother.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Being worth something. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan scoffed and snickered. “You were right the first time. Money. That’s all he really could offer. There was nothing more <em>to </em>offer besides that. For me to help him with a project of his. The funny bit is, he never gave me all the details about it, so I was left completely in the dark.” He freed one hand from his crossed arms and twirled it at the wrist. “Oh, but he laid on the flattery <em>real </em>thick. It was almost pathetic. You wouldn’t have believed it until you’ve seen it, Sixer.”</p>
<p>“I know about his flattery.”</p>
<p>“Wait. What?” Stan crossed his arms again as he made eye contact with Ford.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ford sighed and rubbed a thumb at the corner of the journal nervously. “Stanley, I’ve been a fool. I made a huge mistake and by that, I’m dooming... everything right now as we speak. If you didn’t show up, I don’t know what I’d do. I…” Ford trailed off before he took a deep breath. “I don’t have anyone I can trust anymore.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Stan replied, grabbing at the strap of his duffel bag with one hand and taking a step towards his twin, placing the other on Ford’s shoulder. “What do you mean by that?"</p>
<p>“I need to show you something. Something you won’t believe. But before I show you, I need you to know that I…” Stanford broke eye contact, looking away from his brother, his eyes darting around the room suspiciously.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I made a deal with Bill. I know everything there is to know about him.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Finally, I get to include Ford! he's the best at being the worst but I still love him dearly.<br/>Just be surprised he's so paranoid he's not correcting some of his brother's grammar in this state with the whole 'I didn't get nothing' double negative.<br/>Grammar, Stanley.<br/>Also, Stan gets more information in the following chapters he's just so confused right now my dudes.<br/>Also, I love all the gravity falls villains. Gideon gleeful, the northwests, *looks at smudged writing on hand* Phil Sci-fi..</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Dream Is Real -Bill</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p></p>
  <div class="resolved">
    <p> </p>
  </div>
</div><p>Stan’s grip tightened on his brother’s shoulder as he relayed everything through his mind. He was speechless and trying to connect the dots of what was happening in the current moment. His mouth gaped open, yet no words emerged at first as he recalled more tidbits of his dream in the motel room. How Bill Cipher swayed him with hospitality and charm, only for Stan to turn the tables on him by rejecting the bargain because of how suspicious it really was. There were obvious lies and sheer mockery in the creature’s display, and Stan was able to peer behind the fogged mirrors of the mindscape that were summoned into existence. It was pitiful and pathetic how much Bill hyped up his offer and how much thought and effort was put into something that was bound to fail in the long run.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So how in god’s name did Ford end up falling for it all?</p>
<p>He was the smarter twin, for heaven's sake. This wasn't supposed to happen! It had to be some kind of trick.</p>
<p>No.</p>
<p>Not even Ford was that good of an actor. </p>
<p>This was genuine and it was serious.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Damn.” Stan eventually croaked out and let go of his brother, shoving his hands in his pockets. </p>
<p>“Follow me.” Stanford’s fearful eyes drifted up to meet with Stan’s again as he turned around, leaving the room. “Throw your bag anywhere. This is just a precaution before I take you downstairs.”</p>
<p>“Downstairs? Ain’t this just a two-story?” Stan asked as he set his bag down on a chair at the desk and followed his brother, winding around to a more spacious room, where clutter and high-tech equipment were still displayed about the floor and against the walls. </p>
<p>“That’s just what it appears to be on the outside. This place is supposed to be built to withstand the power being stored within it and if it doesn't, then a great amount of my calculations were for nothing. What I’m about to show you is very secret and is very dangerous to reveal to prying eyes. My research assistant before Bill designed most of the security measures, and most of the codes to them are written down.” Ford proclaimed and tipped the journal upward when referring to it. </p>
<p>Stan kept his head low. He felt especially vulnerable all of a sudden in this cabin, now having been given hints about events that took place here and <em> what </em>lingered within the walls. He assumed whatever Ford was about to reveal had to have the involvement of Bill Cipher and he would get to see what had been hidden from him in the dream at the motel...</p>
<p>Ford grabbed a lantern from off a table by the far window and a box of matches. Lifting the globe and striking a match, Ford lit the wick, the flame behind the glass coming to life and illuminated the scientist's face mysteriously. He clutched the handle in his grasp before tossing the matches back on the table and walked up to a steel-plated door on the far left of the room, a small panel on the right of it. Typing in a numerical code, there was a sound of metal turning as it unlocked and the door opened enough to be physically pulled open. It unearthed a staircase, being lit up by a very dull light around the corner.</p>
<p>Ford began walking down the stairs of this passageway, the sound of his footsteps against the wood flooring bouncing off the walls. Stan followed him a safe distance behind, squinting at the light through the dark. A hanging ceiling light glowed with a very dim ivory hue; obviously not enough to light up the staircase on its own as the two strode down.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bill introduced himself to me as a muse. He told me he picked one brilliant mind a century to inspire with his extensive knowledge of our universe and the universes of others; including his own. It was his knowledge that I craved and needed to learn more of so with a handshake, we were partners.”</p>
<p>“I’m assumin’ he was as much a muse as he was a good omen.”</p>
<p>“Precisely. If he were an omen of anything, it would be <em>mis</em>fortune and nightmares.” </p>
<p>The end of the stairs had washed up faster than Stanley expected. The shadows that festered and stuck upon the staircase made it seem infinite at a first glance, even with a swaying ceiling light on the upper landing. The real guide was Ford’s red masthead lantern; it’s golden light a sphere of protection around the twins. It illuminated the entrance to a metal elevator, with three floors labeled over its head. Stan became more meticulous as Ford opened a panel by the elevator door with a variety of buttons, raising the lantern for a better visual as he mouthed a code while pressing the pattern.</p>
<p>“composition, pulverize, digestion, fusion-“ And the panel turned green. “down.” Ford whispered as he pressed the last button and the metal door creaked open.</p>
<p>“We’re going down to the third floor.” Ford said as he got into the elevator. </p>
<p>“What’s on the second?” Stan followed his brother and stood at his side, gaze shifting around suspiciously. </p>
<p>“Nothing to be concerned about.” The doors screeched closed as the two descended into the lower portions of the shack, the lantern’s delicate flame making their shadows flicker.</p>
<p>Stan side-eyed his twin and Ford stared directly at the closed elevator doors, a look of worry plastered on his face. Stan undoubtedly wanted more answers but wondered if the recollection of Bill was sending Ford into a greater state of paranoia because it seemed so, with all six of his fingers twitching around the edge of the journal.</p>
<p>But he needed to know nonetheless.</p>
<p>“What do you mean you two were partners?”</p>
<p>“We started out on a project together, one that he promised would bring fame into my life. I’d be a world-renowned researcher and one of the top scientists in history. Unknown to me, this was all a trap for Bill’s greater scheme.” </p>
<p>The elevator doors opened and Ford stepped out almost immediately with Stan in-toe.</p>
<p>“See, that’s what I’m not understanding. He wanted me on it too and I just don’t know what… it… is…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan trailed off and he looked around at his surroundings, walking hastily after Ford yet turning around in a circle as he did. There were control panels and surveillance screens everywhere, switches and fuel gauges, dials and monitors, buttons and controls flashing and blinking in a chorus of chaos right in his field of vision. Everything he <em>saw</em> was futuristic and insanely incomprehensible, some of it he even questioned how it existed. As if it were something alien. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What is all this?” Stan asked, his voice on the verge of a whisper as he tried to take in practically everything he was observing. </p>
<p>“This, Stanley, is what we’ve been working on. What I was tricked into building.” Ford strutted up to a large control panel that lay underneath a large glass window. Stan made his way over to the panel as well, keeping a distance behind Ford and trying to avoid the series of cords and wires that threatened to entangle his boots in their winding maze on the concrete floor below him. The panel doubled as a desk and Stan fixated on the controls and switches to the left and also the heat just radiating from the right side of the panel like the inside was full of hot coals.</p>
<p>“Well, all this surveillance shit explains everything on the surface…”</p>
<p>“It’s all precaution. This experiment was very secretive and sensitive. We had to take drastic measures to protect it from everyone who could get word of it and therefore, access it. Even our own government was not to be trusted.”</p>
<p>"Well, that last bit's common knowledge at this point, Poindexter."</p>
<p>Ford smiled. "They've had suspicions there was something here in the first place to be worried about. However, with a little bit more planning in our moves around them and evading them efficiently, we were able to keep this project undercover."</p>
<p>"Hey!" Stan grinned and chuckled, glancing at Ford. "Who would have known? My brother. A government traitor."</p>
<p>Ford's smile dropped at the mention of the word "traitor" and Stan cleared his throat, back to remarking on the laboratory.</p>
<p>“Christ, it feels like somethin’ out of a movie… This is some nerdy science lab you got here. Who’s spaceship did you have to rob for all of this junk?” Stanley attempted a lighthearted chuckle as he wandered around a bit more, examining the feedback from the cameras placed around the surveillance portion of the lab and he saw what was surrounding the perimeter of the cabin, including what information was gathered from some kind of periscope located outside. </p>
<p>“Oh. Uh…” Stanford averted his gaze and crossed his arms behind his back. “The one under this town, to be exact.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“No, never mind. It’s nothing. Though, yes, while this stuff is useful and fascinating, it’s only the dome that’s encompassing the greatest weapon to mankind-“ Ford directed his attention slowly up through the glass...</p>
<p>“Weapon? What are you playin’ at here, Sixer?” Stan stiffened and whipped around, following Ford’s gaze out the window of this part of the laboratory. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And stared at the machine on the other side, gawking at it in its full form.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The triangular machine stood high and ghost-like in the shadows of the cabin basement, the crater in the middle of it outlined a ring that harbored various types of symbols, some recognizable by what appeared flashing on the screens he had passed by earlier. It was looming over the area around it, dulling its surroundings with a <em>pale</em> blue light emanating off the symbols on its halo. The machine was powered down, so it seemed, but it’s light was constant and the dim glow of the blue symbols pulsed second by second in the darkness. </p>
<p>The only thing that separated the beast of a contraption from the twins was a metal door towards the right of the desk as well as the thick layer of glass that divided the rooms.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Wow.” Stan finally mustered. “It’s… a thing.”</p>
<p>“Not just 'a thing', Stanley. This is my grand achievement, as well as Bill’s project. He wanted me to build a transuniversal gateway; a punched hole between our dimension and his own. He claimed it would be a discovery to shake the field of science itself,” Stanford then glared at the machine from outside the window, his eyes turning dark and his countenance cold with resentment. “Surely, it would have been a marvel in the history books, but it’s also capable of terrible destruction. It’s completely shut down at this point.”</p>
<p>“So if it’s shut down, what does he want with it? Why’s this thing so important to him that he had to also come to me about it?”</p>
<p>“Bill’s not of this world-“</p>
<p>“Well I figured that, poindexter. I’m sure that being walking, talking geometry gave that little hint away.”</p>
<p>“No, Stanley. I meant he’s not of this plane of existence. He’s not in our physical world. The only way he can step <em>into</em> our physical world is through possession of someone’s body or through this gateway.” Stanford motioned with a hand toward the portal.</p>
<p>“Hold the phone. You’re saying that that lil' shit can <em> possess </em>people? Is this thing an alien because I’m not ready for an invasion of body-snatchers.”</p>
<p>“What? N-no.” Stanford fixed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. “He uses <em> demonic </em> possession. Bill isn’t an alien, per se, or at least he doesn’t fall into the visualization of what aliens are theoretically supposed to be like. Bill is an entity far beyond our lifetime, existing through time and space for <em>billions</em> of years. He’s a dream demon with a unique ability to distort and take advantage of a person’s mind.”</p>
<p>“So basically you made a deal with the devil. So that he could use <em> you </em> to make <em> this </em>.” Stan pointed out at the portal. </p>
<p>Stanford nodded. </p>
<p>“<em>Fuck </em>, Stanford-”</p>
<p>“Which is why I need your help. Don’t get me wrong, I did consider the possibility you would have known about Bill if he ever visited you… but I truly never thought it would happen. I guess I’m glad it did, in the end. I have someone I can actually trust with this information. I can barely trust myself...” </p>
<p>Grimacing, Stanford looked away and crossed his arms behind his back while his voice shook in a growing rage. “I can’t trust <em> myself </em> because <em> he’s using me </em>. I-I can’t do anything-! I can’t think, I can’t sleep! I doze off for a couple seconds and it leaves Bill with an opportunity to take over my body. Because of our deal, he can come and go into my mind as he pleases when I’m unconscious.”</p>
<p>“You’re sayin’ he’s possessed you <em>before</em>?”</p>
<p>“I’m nothing more than a puppet to him, Stanley. All his, at least until he wears down my body so much that I-...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A hush fell over both brothers as Ford trailed off.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan stood, alarmed at Ford’s most recent confession. His twin was harboring a demon within him, a literal, actual demon from hell. When Stan showed up on the doorstep and was greeted more encouragingly by the crossbow than the wielder of it, he noticed the stark contrast between Ford now and the one he knew in high school. The gaunt, pale flesh, and the darkened circles under his brother’s eyes gave him a withered appearance, which Stan was concerned had come from malnutrition or just hiding away in the cabin for too long apart from society. He noticed how his twin’s clothes clung to him, draping and unkempt, wrinkled, oversized and worn for a while without actually being changed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Who would have known his brother had turned into a husk for a demon to inhabit? This puppet of Bill’s had been fighting the demon off by pure lack of rest. God knows what it was doing to him while he was actually sleeping...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How long has it been since you found out?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ford paused and hung his head, his hands still clasped behind his back, his nails digging into his wrists. “It’s been weeks. Maybe even close to a month? a few months? I’m not sure how long the postcard took to reach you when the days and nights faded together.”</p>
<p>“So why!?” Stan shouted, causing Ford to look up at him again, startled. “Why is he worth this trouble?! What does this machine do?”</p>
<p>Ford pressed his lips into a line and took a deep breath, stumbling a step towards Stan and put a hand on his shoulder, adopting a now grave tone. </p>
<p>“If this portal is activated, Bill can use it to break free into the physical world. He’s being bound by a place that allows for his dream projection called <em>the mindscape</em>. He can tamper with it like <em>no mortal</em> can. He can make anyone believe anything that isn’t real.“</p>
<p>Stan’s eyes shifted to the side and back at the mention of the mindscape.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If he transcends into our world,” Ford continued, his voice choking up and his hands trembling. “it will be the end of all life here on earth.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan kept his gaze locked on Ford’s tired and <em> scared </em> eyes. He looked absolutely exhausted and ragged and Stan felt his grasp move slightly every so often on his shoulder like Ford was using his brother to stabilize himself just in case he was about to pass out. </p>
<p>“That uh… doesn’t sound all that fun. Now that you mention it, Sixer.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, it doesn’t. I need you to do something for me, Stanley.” Ford let go of Stan’s shoulder and held the journal he carried before with both hands in front of him, the golden plaque of the six-fingered hand shone on the front, and in the center, a 1 was proudly displayed. “I have written down the instructions on how to activate the portal in a series of my journals: the other two I’ve hidden myself-“</p>
<p>“Wait, if you don’t want this thing to come back on, why not just, I dunno.” Stan cocked an eyebrow. “destroy the instructions?”</p>
<p>“You don’t understand. This is my research. My life’s work is in this journal.”</p>
<p>“Yeah but it sounds like a big risk that you’re just brushin’ under the rug as long as you keep them around.”</p>
<p>“This is different! I’ve worked so hard for this-“</p>
<p>“If your big concern is the triangle turnin' the portal back on then just get rid of the b-“</p>
<p>“I-I CAN'T! Just <em>listen</em> to me for once!” Ford snapped and his grip tightened on the book. “I’m not destroying my research. There’s a more ideal solution than that!”</p>
<p>Ford sighed and handed the journal to Stanley, who took it hesitantly, the leather against his fingertips feeling so foreign and the weight of all the pages threatening to pull him down with the combined weight of the fate of the universe. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Look, Stanley. Do you remember when we were kids and we’d sit by the beach and talk about sailing far away on a boat? To the edge of the world, if we’d have to?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan’s eyes widened in surprise.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yes, he did.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His face softened, and he grinned with hopefulness, heart swelling with glee at the recollection of the memories that had been lost with his identity for so long, swallowed by the tidal wave in his mind that acted as a tsunami when he changed his name for the <em>very first time</em>. Everything that was misplaced came rushing back like waves upon the shore and there was hope, genuine and pure in its very core, like the inside of his body was a fireplace and that dream was kindling. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>God, it was great to <em> feel </em> again. He almost completely forgot about it until now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Heh.” Stan chuckled lightheartedly, clutching the journal, and it seemingly got lighter in his hands. “Yeah, I do.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Silence.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ford’s face was sturdy and unreadable as he continued.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I want you to take this book. Get on a boat. Sail far away from here and far away from this. From <em>all</em> this. I need you to bury it where no one can ever find it. Never look back. And never come back.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan felt his breathing</p>
<p> </p>
<p>stop.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His heart clenched.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He couldn’t.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>not again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No way this was <em> happening. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Please make it stop. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His once optimistic and <em> hopeful </em> expression <em> shattered </em> in dismay and shock and something so miserably <em> broken </em>as he couldn't help but look away from his twin and down at the book. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He felt so suddenly hollow.</p>
<p>Like his insides had all crumbled and shrunk and were now collecting as dust at his feet. There was undeniable heartbreak, but it hadn’t been so strong and full since <em> the project. </em> The darkness of the lab combed at his vision around the journal until the book was the only thing he could see. And then that disappeared too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was drowning. He was drowning and he couldn’t breathe. He was drowning and there was water all around him and his limbs wouldn’t move properly, going stiff with paralysis. His bones were iron weights attached to chains that only dragged him down into the abyss as the last of his oxygen escaped his lungs and bubbled above him. Stan stared longingly up through the waves as his brother’s outline</p>
<p> </p>
<p>looked</p>
<p> </p>
<p>down</p>
<p> </p>
<p>at him</p>
<p> </p>
<p>from the surface.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stanley?”</p>
<p>He realized he was looking again, right into his brother’s worried and fretful eyes. Stan's face was twisted in unparalleled anguish.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And that infuriated him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was caught off-guard.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not one more fucking time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Y-You… You want me to <em> leave </em> ?!” Stanley shouted, rusty voice cracking in a harrowing combination of agony and rage. “After everything you’ve told me?! After everything I’ve <em> had to find out </em>?! No, fuck, after more than ten years of NOTHING?! And then you want me to get as far away from you as possible?!”</p>
<p>“Stanley, this is bigger than you, you have got to realize that by now!!”</p>
<p>“No- NO! I’m not doing this! Fuck that! You gotta be out of your mind to believe I’d be even the <em> least </em> bit okay with doing this!” Stan’s grip was so tight against the journal his palms had begun to sweat and his knuckles were stark white. And they were <em> shaking </em>. </p>
<p>“I’m begging you, Stan, to actually THINK about this! Think about what you’re saying! For once in your life, THINK! What this could mean for the universe! This is more important than anything we’ve ever been through!” Ford’s voice snapped back at Stan’s rage and his hands flew up, gesturing for emphasis. </p>
<p>“You don’t even KNOW what I’ve been through! This entire time together, the main concern has been YOU and how to fix YOUR mistake! You haven’t given a damn about me! Not once, not in the past <em> ten years-!” </em></p>
<p>“Yes, because the fate of everyone and everything is <em> at stake! </em> You <em> know </em> that! This could jeopardize everything and you’re too stubborn to see it! Just LISTEN to me! I have to fix this, but I need that information far away from Bill!” Ford raved, and Stan bared his teeth, absolutely <em> pissed.  </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>But he did know.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was no doubt about it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This <em> was </em>bigger than him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bigger than some silly childhood dream.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bigger than anything he’s ever felt before.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This was <em> life or death </em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This was something he was still trying to wrap his head around yet had no choice <em> but </em> to believe it was real because the risk it somehow <em> wasn’t </em>held much greater and severe consequences.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> His proposal is gonna hurt way worse- for you. </em>
</p>
<p>“Bill is a threat that can’t be dealt with easily! I’m giving you a chance to make <em> SOMETHING </em>worthwhile out of your life!”</p>
<p>Stan opened his mouth to speak but begrudgingly stopped himself and clamped it shut immediately as his enraged and furious gaze bore into Ford’s own.</p>
<p>“You are the only one I can trust against Bill! Doesn’t that mean <em> anything </em>to you?! After everything you’ve screwed up and I can actually entrust you with something again?!” Ford’s voice died down as he growled something that shook Stan to his very core.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This is worth more than you’ll ever be, Stanley.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan’s expression hardened and the book felt as though it weighed an extra hundred pounds in his trembling grasp by that statement alone. He wouldn’t be able to carry it if it got any heavier than it was now, so he swallowed any pre-existing anger and paused, trying to gather his calm before he made his final decision.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fine.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan looked at his brother, hate <em> burning </em>behind his eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ll take your stupid book.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ford was slightly stunned and raised his eyebrows. "Good. Well thank-“</p>
<p>Stan already turned his back to Ford, barreling straight to the elevator, stumbling over a wire on the floor momentarily as he briskly walked toward the metal doors and basically rammed his thumb into the button for the first floor. </p>
<p>As the elevator doors closed with a metallic noise, he could only glance at his brother’s remorseful expression as the portal behind the glass framed his head.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>When he made it up the stairs, Stan clutched the book close to his chest as he frustratingly kicked discarded papers, notes and all the other <em> junk </em> that practically buried the floor in his way. Thundering towards the room with the desk that Ford attained the journal from initially, Stan snatched up his duffel bag, flung it over his shoulder and made his way towards the door, almost tripping over the loaded crossbow that was at his feet as he gripped the brass handle and <em> yanked </em> the door open, not thinking twice before he descended out into the winter wasteland.</p>
<p>The storm had calmed, but it was replaced with the inevitable factor that night had fallen, the gloomy darkness present to a never-ending forest. Navigating the woods towards his car was going to be expectantly easy, the whitened landscape illuminating so much more than if the snow was absent and Stan was left at the mercy of a pitch-black forest. There was a light snowfall in result of the storm clearing, which meant dark gray skies, but an accumulation of snow had grown since he was allowed into the cabin to the point where his feet up to his ankles were devoured by the ground.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He thought of absolutely none of this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His mind was blank with fury and white noise, thoughts tumbling and turning in his brain, clawing over each other to get to his rational first before they were lost to the void of his consciousness. Stan just stormed on, leaving heavy footprints in the snow behind him and lowered his head into his jacket as his breathing escaped from him as shaky and enraged huffs.</p>
<p>The firs and pines eclipsed him, surrounding him on his trek as he descended into the night, running on instinct alone, back to the life he would be familiar with again before. Again, with no plan and no instinctive to do anything else besides hide this goddamned book or whatever.</p>
<p>As the red paint appeared over the snow, Stan fumbled in his pockets for the car keys and unlocked it, tossing the duffel bag in first and then the journal, hearing it thunk against the passenger’s side door before it tumbled to the ground below the seat. Basically flying into the driver’s side, Stan shoved the key into the ignition. Even before the car fully started, he knocked El Diablo in reverse, expecting to peel out of the scene-</p>
<p>But was met with a revving engine and tires that spun uncontrollably in the snow and ice that surrounded them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Come on… Come ON-!” Stan growled, hoping to gain any kind of traction as he stepped on the gas to no avail.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He lifted his foot off the gas and breathed heavily, his hands clenched at the wheel. “No… no… FUCK!!” Stan punched the dashboard, shoved the door open and got out of the car, stumbling through the snow towards the hood of the car and pushed with all his might, his mind completely clouded as his body reacted to the situation, racing through solutions of how to <em> get out-!! </em></p>
<p>Stan pushed with every muscle in his body, teeth grit and feet kicking up the snow behind him. Suddenly, he slipped and fell to his knees with a gasp, his elbows catching him on the hood of his car.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“God dammit. God DAMMIT-!. Stupid car-! God damn… Stanford!” His fist <em> pounded </em> against the hood, El Diablo’s warmth radiating off as Stanley <em> finally </em> crumpled against it, limp and defeated. </p>
<p>“Fuck…” His head thunked against the hood as he leaned on it, breathing heavily, fogging up a spot on the hood of the car with his gasps.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Worthless </em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> This is worth more than you’ll ever be, Stanley. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> You ignoramus! </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Why would I want to do anything with the person who sabotaged my entire future? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> This is bigger than you! </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Never look back. Never come back. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> For once in your life, THINK! </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I’m giving you a chance to make SOMETHING worthwhile out of your life! </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> This is worth more than you’ll ever be, Stanley. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> This is worth. more. than you’ll ever be. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fuck…” Stan’s voice cracked and broke as tears welled in his eyes. “That dumb triangle was right. Fuck. I can’t-!” Sniffing, the tears ran down his face and onto the hood of El Diablo as Stanley crumpled and caved into himself, head sliding down to meet the grill of the car, his arms covering the top of his head while they rested on the hood. “I can’t do anything right…-!”</p>
<p>Choked sobs and messy sniveling echoed past him and throughout the forest as the headlights shone on a broken man. He moved his arm to wipe his nose as tears and snot dripped off his face, practically streaming out as he cried for absolutely no one to hear.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No one.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or so he thought.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I need to do something… I need to do something…-!” Stan barked to himself as he pushed against the lid of the car, lifting himself up in desperation. He practically crawled into the driver’s side of his vehicle again, which was unmoving in the craters of snow his tires dug out under themselves. Turning off the car, Stan shut the door and glanced at the journal on the ground, scrubbing his face with his sleeve to no avail as just more tears took the previous ones’ place. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can’t <em> do </em>anything right now- unless I…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I... I gotta..."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He stared through the windshield at the falling snow, descending upon El Diablo with grace in contrast to the panic and the trepidation that racked through his skull. His head rolled to the side to then stare into the rearview mirror and his hands clutched the steering wheel. His eyes and cheeks were red and puffy from his breakdown that took place on the outside of his car and he felt tired. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>So tired.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After days of driving with little to no stopping.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>All to do it all over again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If there was only</p>
<p> </p>
<p>another way</p>
<p> </p>
<p>to prove his worth.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Besides this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Anything but this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His face looked like Ford’s.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But it was a lesser</p>
<p> </p>
<p>filthier</p>
<p> </p>
<p>stupider</p>
<p> </p>
<p>more worthless version.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>However, Stanford was the one that made a doomsday device and <em>yet</em> he was <em>still</em> more important.</p>
<p>Because wasn’t that the goal? Wasn’t that what college was <em> for? </em> What he got kicked out of his house as a teen <em> for? </em>Would Ford had done the same thing at the prestigious university he planned to go to initially?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can't be all that bad if I didn't believe any of his tricks in the first place. Maybe you were lying about your mistake. C'mon, you couldn't have seriously fallen for it on your own. You're way too smart for that."</p>
<p>Stan winced and glared at his reflection.</p>
<p>"You’d rather build a machine to end the world than go sailing with me, wouldn't you, poindexter?” Stan mumbled to his reflection in the rearview mirror. He let out a fake snicker. “Hey, if that was the point you wanted to make, you certainly made it. It would’a saved you a lot of work though, on both our ends, if you told me all that beforehand..”</p>
<p>Stan sunk into the leather of the seat, crossing his arms over his chest. Only his eyes and the top of his head were visible in the mirror now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> If I was the one being possessed by a demon no one would bat an eye. I couldn’t do anything too important. And you- heh… you could stop what you caused. Yeah. Everything would work out. </em>
</p>
<p>He choked and let out another muffled sob as he buried his face in his hand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“M’sorry, Stanford. I’m sorry for everything. If only... I could make it up somehow.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan closed his eyes, not wanting to see any more of his reflection as he leaned his head forward into his chest, and his quaking sobs slowly diminished as sleep took over his body.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>He woke up in his car, his eyes shot open abruptly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>To the greyscale of the mindscape.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He knew <em>exactly</em> what to expect now.</p>
<p>“Bill-!” Stan darted up and opened the car door, tumbling out on his hands and knees into the snow. Except the snow didn’t sting his hands with the familiar pain the cold was to him. He shook himself off and stood on his two feet, scanning the area suspiciously in rage.</p>
<p>“Where are ya, you fuckin’ demon?!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<b>Whoa, whoa, whoa! Where’d the hostility come from, Stanley? I thought we were pals, you and I!”</b></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Where are ya hiding, Bill?!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the corner of his eye, the markings on a birch tree glowed in that familiar golden hue and Stan wondered how he ever forgot about it after he woke up from the mindscape the first time. The “eyes” of the tree illuminated until the yellow flashed, the atmosphere darkening as Bill appeared from the blinding light and a clap of thunder. Stan redirected his stance to face Bill, feet apart and fists clenched at his sides, the scowl twisting his face only increased his furiosity.</p>
<p>“<b>Hey Stan! Nice to see you again! Sooo... how have things been since you, you know, shut my deal down? Have they been better? You feeling good?”</b></p>
<p>Stan roared and summoned some brass knuckles into existence on his hands before he sprinted at Bill, swinging for his eye. Bill dodged easily, sending Stan flailing forward and he snapped, the hood of Stan’s coat levitating from the ground. Stan was lifted into the air by his hood, his feet dangling as he grimaced. He was now face-to-face with the triangular creature, his fists held up by his eyes.</p>
<p>“<b>Look, buddy. I come for a friendly chat and you greet me with this? That’s harsh! What did I do to you?”</b></p>
<p>“You lied to me, Bill! You’ve been lyin’! You’re no good omen! you’re-!”</p>
<p>“<b>A demon, I know! Good for you, you figured it out. You’ve also figured out a few more key details yourself that I wanted to stay hidden for just a little bit longer.</b>”</p>
<p>“You mean like how you’ve been using my <em> brother </em> as your puppet for your scheme?! That <em> he </em>was your ‘business partner’ in the first place?!”</p>
<p>“<b>Oh, don’t pretend that you care! After everything that he said to you earlier? Don’t think I didn’t see ALL of it. Ol’ six-fingers may have hidden away all his ritualistic artifacts and shrines but I got more ways to spy in on things.”</b></p>
<p>Stan clenched his jaw and glared furiously at the demon, willing his jacket to vanish and make the drop down to the ground light as he landed squarely on his feet.</p>
<p>“<b>I still can’t believe you took his side! Honestly, I can't! He said some pretty nasty things to you I wouldn't want to repeat myself. Even though you were clever enough to see through me when he couldn't the first time. Yes, I admit, most of the stuff I offered you <em>were</em> scams, but the big picture would still be better if you accepted then than now! Do you realize what you’ve wasted, Stanley?!” </b> Bill was red again, like as he appeared before, but this time the red <em> stayed </em>.</p>
<p>Stan was undeterred, snarling even as a fire erupted from Bill's edges and flickered off his triangular form. <strong>“But</strong><b> hey, I mean I guess you won! You BOTH did! </b><b><em>You</em></b><b> get another fun road trip running from those other humans and I don’t get my portal until I sway another sucker after my current one drops dead! So congratulations! Everything worked out in the end!”</b></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wait.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan’s eyes widened vigorously, worry spreading across his face as he processed what he was hearing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Drops dead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I’m nothing more than a puppet to him, Stanley. All his, at least until he wears down my body so much that I- </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No! You can’t!” Stan belted out, staring up at Bill. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>God, he <em> knows </em> he shouldn’t. After everything Ford said to him. Bill was right. He shouldn't.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But he couldn’t</p>
<p> </p>
<p>fucking</p>
<p> </p>
<p>help it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bill’s eye widened then narrowed into a sly and knowing sneer as the red faded away again to yellow and he hovered down and close to Stanley, summoning his cane into existence. </p>
<p>“<b>I can’t? I can’t what? I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with, here! IQ leant his body to </b> <b> <em>me</em> </b> <b> for the time being. Sure, after all my use it’s pretty much falling apart at the seams but just a little more pushing and I won’t be able to use it anymore for anything. You two bested me! Your little saving-the-world plan trumped mine, Stanley! You should be proud you even have that journal!”</b></p>
<p>“You hurt him and I’ll-!”</p>
<p>Bill pressed his cane on the underside of Stan’s chin, the handle digging into his throat and tilting his head upward.<b>“You‘ll what, Stan?! What CAN you do to me outside of the mindscape? I’m a </b> <b> <em>dream</em> </b> <b> demon! It’s in the job description! You can’t do anything to me. But I can do </b> <b> <em>anything</em> </b> <b> I wish to good ol’ Fordsy! In fact, he's doing everything in his power just to stay upright right about now! A little longer and he’ll collapse and I get to pilot around for a bit! There’s absolutely nothing you can do to me!”</b></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan’s expression crumpled and he looked down to the side, away from Bill. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s nothing he can do.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s the worthless one.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wait.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> He’s </em> the worthless one. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Of course.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<b>So if you’ll excuse me, I got a lot to do before I postpone my plans for another <em>hundred</em> years,” </b> Bill yanked the cane away, causing Stan to flinch. <b>“I only came by to say my goodbyes and everything before you hit the road!” </b> He turned around, willing the cane to vanish in mid-air. <strong>"So take care!"</strong></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Wait, Bill.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>“Hmm?” </b>Bill hovered back around curiously.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re right, you know. Ford’s proposal was one I could’a done without hearing. And after <em> everything </em> I’ve been through, it’s not fair things had to turn out the way they did. I shouldn’t have to stay on the run, truckin’ through problem after problem, strugglin’ to survive. A-and then have to deal with that <em> shit </em> he selfishly lays on me?! As much as I lie, I can’t lie about the fact that it gets annoying <em> real </em> fast.” Stan’s expression softened, then hardened into something braver than anything. </p>
<p>
  <b>“What're you playing at, Stanley?”</b>
</p>
<p>“What I’m tryna say is,” Stan faced towards Bill.</p>
<p>“What would you say if I, perhaps, made a deal for <em>you</em>?”</p>

<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Welcome one and all to my favorite chapter to write outside of chapter 2<br/>Not just because of the angst but<br/>wait<br/>uh<br/>yeah it's because of the angst<br/>Fords not bad he's just<br/>he's goin' through a little something after finding out that he got scammed while his twin didn't, is all<br/>oof he comes off a little extreme. I mean can you imagine? Accidentally dooming the world and pulling people down with you to clean it up? Harsh.<br/>Pretty big oopsie<br/>Fiddleford and stan deserved better back then tbh<br/>Also stan's planning something. Huh, well, anyway! :D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. I am Him and He is Me,</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>Bill put his hands on his sides as he started cacking.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>“Me? An immortal entity of eternal nightmares agreeing to a deal made by a human?”</b> Bill rolled his eye and crossed his arms. <b>“Please!”</b></p>
<p>“It’ll be worth it, I can say that. It’s something both you and I want, it just takes some negotiating to put it all into play. What have you got to lose? Some of your own time? You got more to spare than I do, I’ll give ya that.”</p>
<p><strong>“</strong><b>True!” </b> Bill chimed and shrugged. <b>“Ok, Stan, I'll hear you out just for a few cheap laughs! I’m listening.”</b></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hooked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Here’s how I see it,” Stan folded his palms together as he tried to gain enough composure to deliver this correctly. He gestured with his hands confidently as he spoke. “<em> You </em> WANT another body, right? To help you with your portal? <em> I </em>don’t want my brother to suffer anymore at the hands of a demon. After everything, I ain’t got nothin’ to lose right now, especially with the route I’m taking with him and his journal. You of all things know that and a lot more about the muck we're all in-“</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Line.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So what I’m suggestin’ is this: we form a new partnership out of this whole mess we’ve created for ourselves- I help you out with walkin’ around in the physical world, offer my body and all to pilot around, and you agree to not possess or use Stanford anymore as some kinda tool.”</p>
<p>Bill hesitated and Stan could see invisible cogs moving past his slitted pupil. </p>
<p><b>“I got to admit, it sounds tempting. I am getting tired of waiting around for everything to get started around here!” </b> Bill grinned. <b>“However, don’t think I’m blind to your tricks, Stanley! Any other points you want to clear up for me?”</b></p>
<p>“Fine, I’ll put in some more clarifications in there. You get me all to yourself the exact way you possessed my brother, so no major new rules or obligations to go by, just another walking, talking meat-sack, as you call ‘em. Similar experience, different body. However, you <em>only </em>get me and <em> no one </em>else. This is a two-man… one-man-one-demon deal. And… uh… you can’t kill me. There. That’s all.”</p>
<p>
  <b>“That’s it? You don’t want to be like a number two in my apocalypse or something? No riches? No power? Anything at <em>all</em>?”</b>
</p>
<p>“Nope.”</p>
<p>
  <b>“Are you kidding? Nothing? They usually go for that sort of thing from me! What about what he warned you about for the future of your planet?”</b>
</p>
<p>Stan took a deep breath in and his gaze hardened. “I don't know or care about what'll happen. But if you possess my brother again, or anyone else for that matter, the deal’s off and you're stuck waitin’ around another hundred years.”</p>
<p><b>“Wow. So it’s all sentimental and stuff, huh? I will <em>never</em> understand you humans, always full of surprises. I just love it! I have to say that’s quite a bargain. Give me some time to consider it…”</b> Bill’s eye turned into a ticking clock for a couple of seconds before he blinked and it returned back to normal.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>“I can’t say I’ve made a deal with a mortal before, but there’s a first time for everything. I'm glad we've finally come to see eye to eye! Alright Stanley, I’m sold!”</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Aaand… Sinker.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bill extended a hand towards him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It ignited in a blue flame,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>trickling and weaving between the triangle’s fingers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>“It’s a deal!”</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s a deal.” Stan repeated and took it, the fire merging their hands together. He smirked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He got him.</p>
<p>
  <em> Sorry in advance, Stanford, but rest assured I possibly maybe think I know what I'm doing. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>“Time to take this baby out for a test drive,” </b> Bill laughed. <b>“It’s time to wake up!”</b></p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Stanford Pines slumped over when the elevator doors closed, feeling the regret set in like the aftermath of an expired pill. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was too hard on Stanley.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Way too hard.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>God, <em> why </em> did he <em> say </em>that?</p>
<p>He knew why. He couldn’t have Stanley stand by while Bill was around, piloting his body, poking around his mindscape for memories and weaknesses that corresponded to the both of them. There was too great a risk already, especially if his brother had an encounter with the demon primarily. If Ford had dozed off for even a second…</p>
<p>He couldn’t imagine what chaos Bill could enact in his place around other defenseless people, especially Stanley. <em>Never come back</em>. The problem was if he <em>meant</em> it. If he truly <em>meant</em> what he said in his last meeting with his twin. Humans always say such harmful and brutal things when they’re prodded and cornered and Ford was no exception, cursing at his slightly younger twin and calling him <em> worthless. </em> But on the opposing side, Stan <em> had </em> denied taking the journal away in the first place even when he <em> knew </em> what was happening and <em>w</em><em>ho</em> would be affected if he didn't take it away. Sure, he took on the task <em>eventually </em>but that was after Ford snapped at him... so it worked, right?</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>It’s the universe, you knucklehead!</em> <em>There’s no time for childish fantasies!</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strike> How could he say that. </strike>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn’t understand <em> how </em> Stan could still pretend what <em> he’s </em> had to endure was more important than everything having to do with a doomsday device! What he’s been through was irrelevant! He was just <em>one</em> man and there were <em>billions</em> of lives at stake! He should have just agreed in the first place and maybe Ford wouldn’t have said all those heinous things. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> <strike>I'm a terrible brother.</strike> </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It still didn’t make sense why Stan didn’t <em>happily</em> accept when the opportunity was available. After all, <em> Stan </em>was the one that wanted to go sailing! What better way to deliver the task at hand than combining it with his twin’s childhood dream? It's a classic two birds and one stone technique, how could that have gone over his head?!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strike> <em> Don’t think for a second I don’t want the same thing. But it can’t happen. It’s not realistic.</em></strike>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was much better than being here, cornered and pried upon by unholy sights, having his every move caught and calculated by Cipher, who had eyes everywhere there were oblivious souls. Stanley was an <em> idiot </em> for not <em> seeing </em> that as being a bigger issue than whatever he had to endure in their ten years apart.</p>
<p>However…</p>
<p>Stanley had bested him in something.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strike> Was this where the resentment came in? Or was that at least a part of it? </strike>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stanley hadn’t taken any deals written out by the monster. </p>
<p>He <em> was </em> clever enough to see past Cipher’s tricks and flattery, which Ford’s pride and inflated ego got in the way of. But while Ford <em> was </em> a fool, at least he was trying to fix things! Right? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strike> <em> If you were actually trying to fix it, you would destroy the journals. </em> </strike>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stanford sighed and rubbed at his forehead under the mess of fringe. For Stanley to actually show up was a blessing in itself but he felt… so wrong for pushing him away. He’d never even see his brother again if Stan took the whole “never come back” bit seriously. </p>
<p>And <em> that </em> was the last thing he would ever say to him?</p>
<p>
  <em> Do I never want to see him again? Honestly? That clown is a con artist that cost me everything! I wouldn’t be here right now if I attended West Coast Tech! </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strike> He wanted to get in the elevator, run after Stanley, say he was sorry, beg for forgiveness, tell him he loved him and was so proud of him for not falling for Cipher’s games and hopefully they could take the journal away <em> together </em> on a boat after they got out of Gravity Falls… </strike>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No. He had his deal with the demon to worry about.</p>
<p>In time, Cipher was going to run his body to the brink of death. </p>
<p>He’s been tormented by Bill for so long and he’s been losing his mind- whatever sanity and rational thought he had left was slipping away from him in unraveling strings and being struck from his memory. Stanley didn’t understand. Stanley would hopefully <em> never </em>understand. He’d never wish this circumstance upon anybody.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This was his fault.</p>
<p>He, alone, would suffer the consequences.</p>
<p>Cipher would watch him, from within the walls, as he'd descend deeper into insanity</p>
<p>completely losing himself and everything he’s ever been.</p>
<p>It was only a matter of time. He should be preparing, dismantling the portal, closing down his home of all radio and surveillance equipment, and store it away so he wouldn’t attach a criminal record (and possibly the suspicion of being a government spy) to his haggard corpse. </p>
<p>But he worked <em> tirelessly </em> on all of this. Yes, most of it was built and planned with Cipher, but he couldn’t halt the surge of pride that coursed through him when he basked upon everything he had accomplished. It was his newfound purpose in life away from the fantasies that were just fantasies <strike>of sailing around the world as a free man</strike>. This was real.</p>
<p>Yet it was a nightmare. This was his error and his burden to bear. He had to clean up this stain on the earth or the same mistakes would be made by someone else in the nearby future.</p>
<p>Stanford strode over to the motion-activated metal door and watched it retreat back, allowing him to pass into the portal room. He gazed upon this overbearing halo of death and untimely destruction and let all his thoughts numb his mind as he contemplated the fate of humanity now that the journal was in safe hands. </p>
<p>It was all over now. Bill was powerless in the state that Stanford delved his own body into. He had gotten so exhausted and so weak that the moment Cipher <em> could </em> take over, he’d hopefully be kicked out near after. Or... at least in a short time period. Certainly, the time he had for possession wouldn't last long enough to be present to activate the portal <em> and </em> allow it to charge up in breaking through the bounds of space. He would have to input all the codes and go by the incredibly lengthy procedure to even <em>think</em> about a physical form. It was impossible for Cipher to hold Ford for <em>eighteen hours</em> now even though it was <em> possible </em>in the past. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not anymore.</p>
<p>He’s done as much as he could do. </p>
<p>Everything was going according to plan.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stanford turned around back into the laboratory, leaving the inactive portal shrouded in darkness. Pulling up a swivel chair and planting himself at his desk by the flickering lantern, Stanford grabbed a pen and a notebook (previously used to calculate calibrations and other key bits of information when the portal was in construction). Flipping to a new page, he began to write.</p>
<p>It was a force of habit to catalog his most recent experiences, but since his journals were unattainable in the current moment, he had to resort to using anything available.</p>
<p>
  <em> -If I am ever able to update Journal 3 in the future, I am proud to record my brother has taken up the task of re-routing the last journal to some unknown location even I’m not knowledgeable of. I’m left oblivious to where he will store it, but I trust him to make the right decision. He’s finally proven his worth to me after all.- </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stanford paused and then felt a deep pang of regret take over his body. How could he have said that to Stanley? After all he’s ever known of Stan being compared to him as kids and then on to teenagers… the experience in the principal’s office briefly came to mind and how they <em> deliberately </em> called him there too just to sit outside and eavesdrop on the inevitable. He’d come back to him as a vagabond and a con artist.</p>
<p>
  <strike> <em> How much of that was caused by self-loathing? </em> </strike>
</p>
<p>
  <em> But he should have been making something out of his life earlier and working towards it. I gave him a chance to and he took it. What’s done is done.  </em>
</p>
<p>There’s no coming back from this. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Frustrated he ever put that down on paper in the first place, Stanford furiously crossed out the last sentence and continued to write.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>It was around eleven p.m. when a surveillance alarm went off in the laboratory. A heat signature had been detected in the perimeter outside of his cabin and it was nearing towards the door. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stanford jolted out of his chair and ran to the nearest screen of hidden cameras he placed around the area, fixing his crooked glasses, eyes going wide with shock as he realized he had left the crossbow upstairs by the door when greeting his brother. He squinted at the screen, the snowfall that gently fell in view of the camera lens blurred what feedback he got to see. </p>
<p>But over time, that mullet-haired man was indistinguishable.</p>
<p>“Stanley?!” Ford stared out at the screen with disbelief, choking out his twin’s name.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s been hours.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He left hours ago.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Why did he come back? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn’t have the journal with him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Why</em> didn’t he have the journal with him?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Where was it?!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He lost it <em>already</em>?” Ford grumbled to himself, glaring at the screen and slapping his forehead in the palm of his hand. “Of course he would, Of COURSE, he <em> would! </em>this is exactly what I get for trusting that knucklehead!” </p>
<p>He watched with irritation as Stan strode into the doorway of the shack and just then, Ford heard the door slam open upstairs.</p>
<p>With enough force put into it that made him sure it shook the walls of the upper-level judging by the sound alone. </p>
<p>His eyebrows furrowed with a haunting concern as he stood defensively in the laboratory, hearing the footsteps stomp around two floors up, making its way to the elevator from the stairs…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Something was <em> off </em> about this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe it was just his mind ready to snap… but he couldn’t</p>
<p> </p>
<p>risk it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stanford <em> bolted </em>toward the elevator, hoping to catch it before it was too late.</p>
<p>However, it went up before he even got the chance to press the button, the elevator was already ascending for someone on the surface. For Stanley. It was for Stanley. Don’t worry. He <em> saw </em>his brother in the feedback even though</p>
<p>He still didn’t know <em> why </em> Stan came back... and <em> without the journal. </em> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe this was an opportunity to make things right.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe this was an opportunity to talk with his twin and not </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Wait.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>How’d he even remember the code to the elevator if he doesn’t have the journal on him?</p>
<p>He never learned those chemical symbols. Did he? Maybe he saw Ford type them in?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stanford nervously backed up until his back hit the chair he sat in previously. He gripped the swivel chair behind him and pushed it out of the way, the wheels of the chair getting caught on a wire that lay on the floor and it toppled over with a loud crash. Ford’s eyes suspiciously tracked the sound of the elevator descending into the lab from the ceiling all the way to the floor-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>until it stopped.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The doors slid open with a craning screech.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And there was Stanley.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was covered in snow and his beanie had been discarded, while his</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Head hung low and arms were limp at his sides. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>However, his hands were seized in a stiff and distorted position, the fingers twitching every few seconds and his stance was wide as he took a staggering single step out of the elevator. His body lurched forward as the fringe of his hair draped over his eyes.</p>
<p>“Stanley?” Ford’s voice broke as he backed up some more, grabbing the desk. “W-what are you doing back here? I thought you were leaving with the journal!”</p>
<p>“Hey, don’t worry about it, Sixer! I just wanted to drop by again. Check in on my <b>b</b>r<b>o</b>t<b>h</b>e<b>r</b>. We left on a pretty <b>b</b>a<b>d</b> note, don’t you agree?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His voice was the same, but there were ripples in it that was something… supernatural. Something was wrong with it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Something was wrong with him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You should leave. Right now! I-I’ve told you before, it’s not safe here!”</p>
<p>“Y<b>o</b>u’<b>r</b>e R<b>i</b>g<b>h</b>t, <b> IQ! It’s the farthest bit from safe now that I’m here!” </b> With that, his voice bled together with <em>someone else's</em> and <strike>Stanley</strike> walked into the laboratory from the open elevator, his back straighter than normal, his gait unsteady as swayed slightly over his feet as if this wasn’t his typical manner of holding himself. As if-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wasn’t used to being human.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stanford’s face twisted in horror as his jaw dropped when he came to his realization.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No, god, <em>no!</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>But how?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>How?!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“B-Bill?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>“Surprise! Oh, oh wow! You two really messed up this time!”</b> Stan’s head rocked back, his hair flipping up and bits of melting snow trailed down his freezing face that had been battered by the snow outside. <b>“Did you miss me, Fordsie? You haven’t been responding much to the notes I’ve left in your journals anymore, what gives? You know I worked hard on those! I did everything I could to keep your body awake and working just like you asked!! You shouldn't have shut me out!”</b></p>
<p> </p>
<p>His eyes opened abruptly and</p>
<p> </p>
<p>a horrid</p>
<p> </p>
<p>and deranged</p>
<p> </p>
<p>yellow</p>
<p> </p>
<p>presented itself in the basement.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He slumped forward again and eyed Ford viciously, an insane and crippling smile stretched, pulled and <em>strained</em> his brother’s face in a grin that was excruciating just to look at. It layered across Stan’s face, stretching from ear to ear. His eyes were as wide as they could be, yanking at his cheeks and his forehead, latching on Stan’s skin like there were invisible hooks that distorted his countenance in a most abhorrent manner where he looked like a completely different person.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A completely different person.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stanford was speechless, one hand grasped desperately at the desk while the other was extended in front of him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Was he defending himself?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strike> Was he reaching out for Stanley? </strike>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This… this is impossible… But… HOW?! Stan said he didn’t agree to any-“</p>
<p><b>“Deals of mine? Okay, okay, I was gonna save this little fact for last but it is by far my-!“ </b> Bill started laughing in between his words, struggling to speak through his giggles as he persisted, <b>“my.. FAVORITE twist in all this! I mean, this is priceless in itself that I’m back this way, of ALL the things that could have </b> <b> <em>prevented </em> </b> <b>this but-!</b> ” <strike>Stanley</strike> Bill advanced toward Ford, who just shrunk deeper against the desk behind him. Bill raised two arms in a shrug as his threatening footsteps echoed off of the concrete and the basement walls. <b>“He didn’t! He made this one up himself! I personally liked it too much to pass it up. This is the first deal I’ve accepted from one of you mortals and I’m living for it! I mean, hey, as the future ruler supreme of the universe I shouldn’t shy away from a little fresh change now and again! An open mind never hurt anybody! It shakes up the algorithm a bit- keeps things entertaining!”</b></p>
<p>“No! Y-You’re lying, Cipher! You’re nothing more than a lie! Stanley wouldn't, he <em> knows </em>what I’ve told him about you! He can see through your tricks!“</p>
<p>
  <b>“Oh he knows! And I have to admit, I was close to accepting defeat myself! Your universe was just going to have to wait for my apocalypse until you all keeled over on your own! I even congratulated him and you for working together and outsmarting me, at least for the time being. Until for some reason, he offered himself as your replacement before you <em>retired</em> permanently. Oh, by the way, you’re off the hook, six-fingers!”</b>
</p>
<p>Stanford glanced from side to side in complete and utter confusion, perplexed by the demon’s last statement. “Wait, what? What are you saying?”</p>
<p><b>“Our deals off, I got a new flesh-puppet now to do my bidding! And you should be feeling lucky you had someone to get you out of that mess!” </b> Bill tilted his head and chuckled. <b>“I’m a demon of my word, what can I say? He said so himself that I can’t possess you or anybody else from now on! Good thing is, you don’t have to worry about me deteriorating your body anymore!” </b> Getting close to Stanford, Bill grabbed the front of his trenchcoat and hoisted him from the desk. Ford was paralyzed, staring into his brother’s golden and stretched eyes, completely powerless. <b>“You know, for how clever he is he failed to see a little loophole in his guidelines-!”</b></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bill roughly flung Stanford down to the ground on his side, him hitting the concrete and landing with a gasp. Ford rolled over quickly on his back and looked up at the demon, leaning himself upwards on his elbows.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>“His deal keeps me from hurting you with </b> <b> <em>possession </em> </b> <b>but it doesn’t say anything about doing it in the physical world!” </b> Bill circled around Stanford, swaying slightly in this human suit. “ <b>And honestly? </b> <b> <em>What </em> </b> <b>a crucial thing to forget to mention, because it’s JUST what YOU were scared of in the first place! Did you forget to mention </b> <b> <em>that </em> </b> <b>in your talk? Or were you too busy running your mouth while you chased him off the deep end?!”</b></p>
<p>“Shut up!! Shut up!!” Stanford finally yelled, but it came out less threatening and more fearful if anything. “G-Get out of my brother!!” Pushing himself up, he rushed at Bill, raising a fist to Stanley’s face-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He couldn’t. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He froze for half a second, </p>
<p> </p>
<p>grief-stricken.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>“Aw, tough luck, Sixer!” </b>Bill grabbed his wrist, twisting it behind him along with his arm. </p>
<p>“Shit-!” Ford spat in pain. “Bill, please, he didn’t do anything to you! This is between you and me, as it always has been!”</p>
<p>
  <b>“You still have that ‘chosen one’ complex after <em>all</em> this time? Well, sorry to break it to you, but it’s too late! You’re not the only one that’s stood in my way from getting what I want! You lost this game already when you called Stanley here in the first place! I should be thanking you actually for doing that since he wouldn’t sign on to what I had planned!”</b>
</p>
<p>"Your plan was to doom the world, he wouldn't play into that!" Ford struggled as his hand was locked behind him.</p>
<p><b>"I mean, he did give me his body eventually so it's kinda in the program. By the way, that’s rich you even still believe it’s only us in this now! It’s even better you’re acting like you still </b> <b> <em>care</em> </b> <b> about him even after everything you’ve said!”</b></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ford’s expression turned from horror to a one of remorsefulness and <em> shame.  </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bill was right.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He hated to admit it to himself but...</p>
<p>Why did he ever allow Stan to leave?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn’t expect Stan would actually be desperate enough to do something like this-!</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>“I have to give you a round of applause for your </b> <b> <em>pathetic</em> </b> <b> performance! You humans are always giving me something new to work with, you know?! You don’t care about him! You never have!”</b></p>
<p>and Bill grabbed the back of his head, using Stan’s fingers to keep a much firmer and terrible grip, tugging and entwining with the hair on Stanford’s scalp. Ford cried out as Bill <em> slammed </em> his face into the metal of the motion-activated door to the portal room. There was the sickening <em> crunch </em>of glass against the iron and it didn’t take Ford more than a couple of seconds to feel the broken shards of what was the right lens of his glasses cutting into his face.</p>
<p>The motion-activated door opened nearly a second after and Stanford plummeted to the ground of the portal room, Bill using Stan's face to grin like a mad man as Stanford turned around again only to be met with a boot putting an intensified pressure on his chest-</p>
<p>hearing the uproar of laughter from above him.</p>
<p>
  <b>“Like, this is hilarious because you’re so oblivious to what you’ve caused just by your actions alone! Not only to the universe, though I believe the guilt is setting in juuuust fine, but to your sibling too!  You’re the one who called him worthless! And here I thought I was the monster!”</b>
</p>
<p>Stanford clamped his hands around the ankle of the boot, trying to push it off him. “One person isn’t… worth the fate of the universe! I… I didn't mean-!”</p>
<p><b>“Oh now who’s the one lying here?</b> ” Bill leaned forward over Stanford, smile still wide and bending every muscle there was in his brother’s face. <b>“I guess it didn’t matter too much, though! He still believed he saved your skin in the end. Too bad he’ll have to <em>scrape</em> it off the walls too when I’m done with you!” </b></p>
<p>“What?!”</p>
<p><b>“See, Brainiac, now that I’m occupying someone brand new, I don’t </b> <b> <em>need</em> </b> <b> you around anymore to potentially stop me! You know I got big plans ahead of me! And what better way to get rid of you than by the person you've wronged in the first place?! You’re a discarded pawn and </b> <b> <em>Stan’s my 8 in the hole!</em> </b> <b> And after lagging behind for a while, I’m FINALLY calling the shots here!”</b></p>
<p>Bill swung a leg back and <em> rammed </em>it into Ford’s side. Ford screamed in pain and his body rolled in the direction of where he was kicked. Without the boot on his chest, Ford, despite the ever-increasing pain that spread beneath his ribs, scrambled up, kicking up dirt under him as he struggled to get to his feet before</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bill swung at him with a left fist, barreling it into the side of his temple. His glasses, with one lens left behind, flew off his face as he tumbled to the floor and ceased to move. His vision was instantly muddled but churned its way back over time into a blurry one he’d hoped he’d be able to work with eventually. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Laughing, that same heartless and insane cackle, Bill took joy out of Ford’s desperation as he shuffled his way to loom over Ford, who was sprawled out upon the floor and coughing from the blow in his side. <b>“I honestly have been thinking about what to do with Stanley’s mind after I’m done activating the portal and achieving the upgrade of a physical form! Unfortunately, killing him is off the table, he made sure of that, but with my potential, I could warp him into something worse than mortal death! I can drive him insane or destroy and corrupt all of his memories so he can be as much as a demented and deranged husk as you were! You think he’ll enjoy a fragmented mind as much as you did, Fordsie? A whole consciousness in shambles is much more fun to toy with than one that’s intact! Maybe I’ll keep you alive long enough to see me do it too so you can really process everything you’ve </b> <b> <em>done!</em> </b> <b>”</b></p>
<p>Ford groaned, disorientated from the punch to his head. He coughed up dust around him and felt it drift up to his lips, tasting the dirt in his saliva as it stuck to his tongue. “You stay away from my brother’s mind, Bill!” Ford shouted in the bravest voice he could muster at this point. He pushed himself to his hands and knees slowly, feeling some rocks peeking through the ground of the portal room dig into his palms. “Y-you do anything to hurt him I’ll personally make sure you-“</p>
<p><b>“Yeah yeah yeah, CAN IT!” </b> Bill kicked at Ford’s arm, knocking him down again in the dust of the cave-like portal room and stomping once on his spine. <b>“I got an apocalypse to kick off, the party to start working on, fiends to call, all of that and more! Thanks to you, six-fingers! You know, if you want, since you’re the one to thank for all this, I could keep you around for my big day! Maybe under the guise of another deal you’ll fall for?”</b></p>
<p>Ford sent a side glare upwards at the body of his twin, locking his eyes with the demon above him. “I’d rather choke than ally with you again, you monster!”</p>
<p><b>“PROMISE?” </b> Bill beamed and grabbed Ford’s neck with both of Stanley’s hands, spinning him, hauling him upward and standing him on his two feet as he <em> squeezed. </em>Ford’s fingers raked at Stanley’s hands being used to torture him and Bill shoved Ford into the wall with the window that separated the lab from the portal room. His back was pressed into the metal and he felt the space between him and the wall lessen as the demon increased his strength, mercilessly pinning Ford with no intent to let go until the human stopped struggling.</p>
<p>His vision clouded at the edges as he suffocated, Bill using the inside of Stanley’s thumbs especially to press against Ford’s esophagus, driving more air out of frantically heaving and desperate lungs. His nails left marks on the back of Stanley’s hands and wrists as Bill’s insane and strained eyes searched beyond Ford’s own, the slit pupils bore right into his doomed soul, latching onto and reeling in an animalistic fear. Ford’s tongue slightly stuck out of his mouth while he tried and failed to gasp for air and Bill’s pressed the thumbs in <em> harder. </em>When reaching any air failed, finally Ford stopped flailing as he went limp in Bill’s grasp. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His arms fell to his sides and the demon dropped him, Ford crumpling like a ragdoll onto the portal flooring. He retained consciousness, only barely, his eyes fighting to stay open.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>“Have a good sleep, Sixer! I promise I’ll do my best to not disturb this one!” </b>Bill rubbed Stanley’s hands together maliciously as he turned tail into the laboratory, his shadow reflected by the dim lighting emanating from the portal room’s various lights. He used Stanley’s body to loom over the three switches which activated the portal and began the start-up process.</p>
<p><b>“After years… YEARS of waiting, let's see what this baby can do!”</b> Bill chimed and pressed the back of Stanley’s arm with brute force against all three of the switches, moving all of them simultaneously.</p>
<p>A rumble then vibrated through the laboratory basement, unleashing a brilliant escapade of blinking lights motioning across the control panel behind the start-up switches. A red light blinked to the demon’s side, it’s intensified color indicating that</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The portal was being put to use.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With just that, an echoing click sounded off and the blue of the machine encapsulated the surrounding area, illuminating the basement in a stark color that would soon bring the shack to life. The portal’s exterior let out an estranged hum of activation, and Ford defeatedly watched it as it began to spark through the darkness, like lightning consuming the branches of a barren tree. The bluish hue of the piercing bright sparks allowed not one inch of darkness to fester among the room. Each of the alchemy symbols placed about the ring of the portal blazed in their own respect, only adding to the chaos.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ford’s head dragged along the ground to look at the portal, feeling the portal's hum in the ground underneath his body. He lifted his head slightly from the ground and his eyelids fluttered fully open to the drastic change in lighting and muttered numbly to himself.</p>
<p>“No… no… it has to stay off…!” Getting to his feet cautiously, his vision ricocheted and swam in various directions and Ford slapped a hand to the wall to support himself in his dizziness before he tumbled over again. While he adjusted to the sudden intake of air he was deprived by being suffocated only moments earlier, he staggered into the doorway of the laboratory.</p>
<p>
  <em>Just stay awake. Just stay awake.</em>
</p>
<p>The human-sized blur in his vision was Bill.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bill was Stanley right now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Even if he looks like him, at the core, at this moment, he was the demon.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And he had just started the portal.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stanford heaved and yelled, storming at Bill.</p>
<p><b>“What?!” </b>Bill screamed in surprise unexpectedly and tried to dodge but Stanford, in a blind fury, punched Stanley’s body in the face, sending Bill sprawling back into a wall of screens. </p>
<p>“That… machine… needs to stay deactivated-!”</p>
<p>“<b>Why, Sixer, with as much damage as you’ve gotten, I’m impressed you’re still standing! Especially in your state! Are you trying to stop me?! I’m an immortal entity of pure madness! It’s all been leading up to this and you’ve done nothing but delay the inevitable! Absolutely nothing can stop me at this point!”</b></p>
<p>Bill then sprinted at Stanford, but his boot caught in one of the winding wires that led to the control panel and he tripped forward, landing on Stanley’s face with a thud against the concrete. He pushed himself up on his hands but his ankle was tangled in the wire he had so clumsily tumbled over. Ford, taking advantage of the demon’s error, glanced at the levers to the machine and ran towards them.</p>
<p><b>“Not so fast, IQ!” </b>Bill screamed in frustration as he whipped around with a free leg to trip Stanford in return, kicking him violently in the shin. Flailing and wincing, Ford caught his balance on one of the machines lined up against the wall before he could collapse completely and redirected himself to face the demon, who had shaken free from the wire that ensnared him before.</p>
<p>“This is hopeless, Bill! You’ll never get that portal on! Not now, not ever! I’ll be damned before I see you doom my world! Now let go of my brother and leave us alone!”</p>
<p>Bill had Stanley’s face bent in a vengeful grimace, his eyes still wide and so undeniably yellow but this time with seething hatred.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>However</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In all honesty</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It wasn’t all that different than before</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stanford</p>
<p> </p>
<p>told him to leave.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was horrifying</p>
<p> </p>
<p>seeing the two like this</p>
<p> </p>
<p>merged into one.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Was this what F saw? Was this what he was afraid of? Stanford then saw his own face in Stanley’s and a flashback of a terrified southern scientist scampering back from a demonic amalgamation of devil and man. It made sense automatically and there were new mistakes in his brain now. </p>
<p>He gambled with the fate of the universe. He fell for a twisted deal. He built this contraption up from the ground. He pushed his research assistant away by practicing in the dark arts and even denied publishing a paper that F persevered and labored for just to save him from the sun he kept flying into with wax wings. But most importantly</p>
<p>He sent his brother away and led him to becoming this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>“You’re making this a lot more difficult than it needs to be-!”</b> Bill rushed at Stanford, charging at him with fists drawn but Ford evaded the demon’s attempted punches, ducking past them loosely, and kicked Stan’s body in the stomach, sending Bill stumbling back towards the doorway. Bill's eyebrows raised as he turned, his back to the control panel under the window.</p>
<p>“You piece of shit!! You manipulated me, Cipher! I’ll make this as difficult as it needs to be so that your plan fails! I wish I never listened to you! I wish I never <em>met</em> you! You’re the seed of all my mistakes! You are everything that’s wrong with me! You made me more into a freak than I already was!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bill growled and stepped towards Ford, only for Ford to counter back, holding up an arm defensively and shutting his eyes firmly right before launching himself into Stan’s body, finding his arm fiercely pin the demon’s neck and shove him against something metal</p>
<p> </p>
<p>and keep him there.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eyes closed tight in rage and unable to meet the stolen and yellowed ones of Cipher’s.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>until.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bill stopped struggling.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He stopped moving.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Out of nowhere,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>hysterical laughter bellowed out of the borrowed vessel, shaking it in a chorus of frenzied screeches of unholy cackling. </p>
<p>Stanford’s eyes shot open and widened in an abysmal concern as he was caught off-guard by the demon’s unforeseen change of tone and the strength in his arm had diminished.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Before he smelt it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A stench so vile and acrid enveloped all his senses at once, the sulfuric and charcoal-like fume sending a wave of sudden nausea to take over Ford’s body in the span of a few seconds after the smell hit his nostrils. The sizzling was processed next when smoke rose from <strike>Bill’s</strike> Stanley's shoulder.</p>
<p><b>“DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'VE DONE?! DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU’VE DONE, SIXER?! AHAHAHAHA!” </b> Bill <em> roared </em> with laughter, his borrowed body twitched and trembled in an unrestrained <em> mania </em>. </p>
<p>Ford practically leaped back on his feet and with an expression of undeterred horror, dizziness taking over his vision and he watched helplessly as Stan’s body slumped forward.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The laughter continued, for what seemed like forever</p>
<p> </p>
<p>until it started to dreadfully transform </p>
<p> </p>
<p>mangled</p>
<p> </p>
<p>into guttural <em> screaming. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>And the gold vanished from Stanley’s eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Uh oh</p>
<p>and ouch</p>
<p>that's gotta hurt</p>
<p>besides that<br/>Ford's pov finally! I couldn't not include at least a bit of his pov, especially if Bill's possession keeps Stan's pov at bay while hes offline. This was fun to do, even if Ford's still a Super Asshole at this point. Once he figures out what Stan's motive for the deal was tho... oh boy. </p>
<p>stay tuned :'D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. We'll Be Like This For Eternity.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>Stanley was screaming, in that same familiar rusted voice untainted by the madness it had harnessed previously. He clutched his shoulder with his left hand, his screams erupting throughout the basement as he stared blindly in front of him, eyes wild in desperation and pain. He had been severed from reality, at the complete and total mercy of his own mindscape as Bill had uninterrupted influence over his very physical self. Ford could only be starkly reminded of his own experiences as he stared at Stan, who was, at the moment, in a genuine panic unlike any that he’s seen before outside of his previous research assistant.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His brother was back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And the symbol on the portal control panel had been branded into his shoulder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was then Ford was hit with yet, another mistake that made its way into the library of his already increasing collection.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stanley! Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Ford quickly knelt by Stan, reaching out for him before Stan frantically locked his eyes with Ford and scrambled back on his heels, sliding back and bumping into the doorway between the laboratory and the portal room. His breathing was heavy and uncontrollable as he cried out and his gaze darted around like he was a cornered animal, before looking at Ford again, speechless and recognizably in shock.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> This is all my fault! </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stanley, it’s okay! It’s only me! Please-“ Ford approached him, Stan's blurred outline becoming sharper as he inched closer, only for the regret to puncture deeper into his heart as his twin's face became easier to see.</p>
<p>“S-stanford-!” Stanley croaked out, his voice cracking and hoarse from a voice box that had been racked with screaming only moments earlier as he was coming back to reality after snapping out of the demon’s influence. “Oh shit-!” </p>
<p>Ford placed a hand on his twin’s good shoulder as Stan still clenched the right. His body was <em> shaking </em>terribly, and his shoulder was still smoldering since being removed from the raging, igneous heat of the godforsaken panel, the symbol bright against the shadows cast by the portal’s hue on the other side of the metal wall.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Watch Your Back. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stanley, breathe, calm down, you're here, you’re back in reality-” Ford attempted to ground him, speaking in the calmest voice he could possibly muster. “We’ll get you healed, you’ll be fine! I’m so sorry, this should have never happened… Here, let me see-”</p>
<p>“F-fuck! No! Stop!” Stan spat through grit teeth and coiled into himself, sinking his nails into his shoulder. His eyes shut tightly and he tried to back up more against the doorframe and away from Ford. Ford shuffled to Stan’s left to inspect the burn but stopped himself warily as he merely glimpsed at the searing <em> red </em> of scorched muscle tissue, skin, and hair festering into a brand that was marked deep into Stan’s back. The world seemed to blur at the edges and he felt sick to even recall how his brother’s body fell completely limp under his forearm as Bill’s cackling echoed profusely in his ears and Stan’s screams readily took their place.</p>
<p>Bill had vanished for the time being, leaving Stan to deal with the aftermath of a supernatural and demonic possession, a state that the typical man cannot say they’ve exactly been through.</p>
<p>Was the burn so painful for the vessel that, somehow, Cipher was expelled from the body he inhabited?</p>
<p>Or was it something similar to Stanley waking up and booting him naturally? </p>
<p>It was hard to say, even with all Ford's knowledge of the triangular being, a lot was still kept in the unknown. Waking up was, however, the most believable option...</p>
<p>It’s what he’d done in his position as Bill’s business partner at least. Keeping alert was the only thing that was possible to maintain a barrier from the demon, as he could take over at the slightest hint of exhaustion especially if the host wasn’t so used to being possessed-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The gravity of the situation donned on him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Everything clicked into place</p>
<p>And the bigger picture was in view.</p>
<p>His twin had proposed and completed a deal with his newfound nemesis. He took <em> all </em> the time to explain what Bill did and was and yet still, STILL, Stan had gone and offered his hand. Why? After ALL they’ve been through? Ford’s grip was immovable, clamped on his twin’s shoulder, completely dumb to speech, his emotions and thoughts as blurry as his vision without his glasses.</p>
<p>And all rational thought eluded him, to a realization that things were completely different now than the moment Stan had gotten into the elevator with the journal.</p>
<p>His whole idea to allow himself to go off the deep end for the sake of humanity had been flipped on its head, befalling him in an undetectable turn of events.</p>
<p>He would never be possessed by Cipher again. The demon had no control over him anymore.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘From now until the end of time’ was no longer. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Even though time, eternity even, continued for someone else.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was </p>
<p> </p>
<p>free.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But, now, the man in front of him</p>
<p> </p>
<p>wasn’t. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em> What </em> have you <em> done, </em> Stanley?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stanley gazed back up, the look in his eyes a mix of hostility, fear, and anguish. He refused to speak, his breathing still accelerated, gasping for unspoken words.</p>
<p>“What have you DONE, you knucklehead?! After everything I told you about Cipher and you make a deal with him anyway? How <em> could </em>you?” </p>
<p>Stanley continued to just stare, horrified and confused, while Ford’s voice got louder the more panicked he became. “How could you, Stanley?!”</p>
<p>He <em> tried </em> to sound angry and stern because on the surface, that’s what Ford allowed himself to be, what he <em> needed </em> to be to survive right now. However, obviously masked in that, his voice adopted a protective but yet also a <em> betrayed </em> tone, ridiculing his brother but in the way Ford felt he <em> needed </em> to be to see straight. “Unless I’m wrong. <em> Please </em>let me be wrong! Please let it all have been one of Bill’s lies! Did you really initiate a deal with him? Did you?!”</p>
<p>Stanley‘s eyebrows furrowed as he tried to control his breathing. “Ford-! I can explain-!” Stan let go of his shoulder with a loud wince and pushed himself to his feet. He fought back a groan as it was obvious he was immediately off balance and clutched the doorway for support. Stanford rose too and the circumstances ran through his brain with Stanley being profusely hurt and yet here he was lecturing him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> This isn’t the time! He’s hurt! </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Maybe if he didn’t get possessed by Bill in the first place, I wouldn’t have to burn him! </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> This is all his fault! </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stanley, you shouldn’t have made that deal! <em> Why </em>would you do that?! Bill is dangerous, you should know better than to tamper with power like that! I warned you, even! I WARNED you! You knew better to get involved with him by what I told you-“</p>
<p>“It doesn’t matter! H-he was gonna kill you! What choice did I fuckin' HAVE? Leave you to rot as a puppet?!”</p>
<p>“But now you’re the one in danger! Don’t you realize that?! You shouldn’t have done this. Bill can do anything he wants with you now. He can mess with your mind freely, h-he can…-“ </p>
<p>Ford’s mouth moved on its own, his brain a messenger that was lost in its own wasteland as his warnings took to ramblings. To himself, he didn’t even sound coherent, the pressure building up on his psyche and hindering any trace of sense past his own fear of what he had been dealing with for nearly as long as the third journal was in production. Ever since he’d met his Muse. And now that was all over.</p>
<p>“Don’t you see what you did, Stan? You became a ticking time bomb when you accepted that deal! You’re at risk now for everything that’s already happened-!”</p>
<p>“Sixer, c’mon.” Stanley spoke, his voice strained. He pushed off the doorway, standing in a wide stance and disoriented. “H-how else was I supposed to save you?” </p>
<p>“You weren’t! I shouldn’t have been saved! I agreed to working with Bill and I had to pay the price!”</p>
<p>“What the <em> fuck </em> do you mean by that? You shouldn’t'a been saved? You’re my brother! I can’t just let you keel over just because of a dumb mistake!” Stan yelled and his voice broke and his defenses came down. “M-maybe this is for the better.”</p>
<p>“For the better?! Bill used me and toyed with my mind night after night after night! He manipulated me and <em>used</em> me for his sick game and played me while he was at it! You shouldn’t have to go through the same thing! You can’t activate that machine, one person isn’t worth the fate of the world.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>One person isn’t worth the fate of the world.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m not planning to.” </p>
<p>“You’re not <em> planning </em>to?! You can’t plan around him! He wants one thing and he’ll take unpredictable measures to get it! What else could you have used to sway Bill over to have you as his own personal puppet?! His project is the only thing he’ll bargain for!”</p>
<p>“Y-you know, for how clever he is, he failed to see a little loophole in the guidelines...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> That’s familiar. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan’s eyes were suddenly vacant of any emotion and he stared off into space as if he was entrenched in a thought that changed up the narrative. There was more behind their agreement that only Stan knew and Ford was ever so curious about. This was a side of his brother he had never encountered before, and if he did in the past, he never noticed this version until now.</p>
<p>He had grown up with the Stan that would swipe wallets and dollars from boardwalk patrons, find ways to cheat past arcade machines and carnie games, and lie through his teeth when talking to classmates, teachers, or their parents. Whether it was about a homework assignment he’d never completed or a fight he had picked with another kid and staged his resulting injuries as “boxing practice”, his brother has always had an innovative way to approach a situation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But he always had some sort of smile on afterward.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After he had gotten what he wanted, his brother’s prideful glee would radiate from him like the sun at dawn spreading rose and golden streaks across the sky in the morning haze.</p>
<p>This one was hollow, like this victory was a shallow one that only would make things worse for one of them.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>Finally, there it was, yet, this time it was expectantly different. Stan smirked, a cold agonized lip curled in response to the fact that Bill, now through his eyes and not Ford’s, was watching, quite possibly with more curiosity than even Ford himself.</p>
<p>To his surprise, Stan started chuckling. It was a choked and raspy laugh which was all his body could muster in all the shock it was going through while both being horrendously injured and also had just taken a stage dive back into consciousness after his mind was used like putty to accommodate another soul in his brain. </p>
<p>“That’s right. He signed on. I got him, Ford! H-He has nowhere else to go!”</p>
<p>“Stanley, just tell me! What do you mean?!”</p>
<p>“When I talked to Bill, I pointed out how much he wants the damn thing built. Even used ‘partnership’ to think I was actually gonna work with him. But I <em> never </em> said I’d actually do it. I only said he could possess me. Nothin’ else. A-And good luck to him tryna get back into <em> your </em> head!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ford froze and his eyes widened at Stan’s confession.</p>
<p>The implications of this would be Stan used <em> himself </em> more or less as a rat trap, to divert Bill’s attention from Ford, for a hollow outcome. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan started laughing, but it was so obviously forced, which was such an unusual thing to see from someone who, Ford couldn’t deny, could be able to put on a face and fool everyone else around him. Stan looked absolutely <em> terrified </em> of what he’d done and what it meant.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> He doesn’t want this. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> He’s scared. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Why is he saying this? Doesn’t he know Bill is listening?! </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> What’s Bill going to do to him? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You shoulda seen him! Askin’ me what I thought about for the future of this world and even actin’ surprised I didn’t want anything to do with it. C-Cuz nothin’ was gonna happen in the first place! But he shook my hand anyway! What a sucker! He backs out, what's he gonna do? W-Wait for <em> someone else </em>to come along? Go through the process of fillin’ them in on the details? Run the risk of trickin’ them again? How foolish can ya be?!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stanley…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> How’d he even manage that? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> he managed to trick Bill of all things. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> If Bill’s listening </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> he’s gonna be furious. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ford’s blood ran cold as he connected the dots a little bit too late after Stan’s gaze drifted downward and he clutched his shoulder again, eyes shutting tight and slouching.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> He’s going to try and come back! </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> He won’t stop until he does! </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s classic,” Stan confidently said, but when he opened his eyes, the right remained closed. “But he still wants to hurt ya like he did before. And he really did a number, didn't he?“ He proceeded to back past the doorway and into the portal room, glancing around as his flight sense took over. “S-so I gotta get outta here ‘fore he does anything else.”</p>
<p>“You're in no condition to leave!” Ford took steps forward, following and reaching out for him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> No, he’s right. He’s right. Let him go. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> He needs to leave! Right now! </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> He needs to get to the elevator and go! This isn’t the right way! </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> But he’s hurt. He’s hurt and most likely in shock if not already coming out of it and it’s all my fault- </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Bill will come back!  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ford paused and looked at Stanley’s terrified face, illuminated in the blue light of the portal. His right eye twitching and opening every couple seconds before closing again. “I needed you to know, Ford. I just… I needed you to know.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wasn’t his brother anymore.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At least</p>
<p> </p>
<p>not one-hundred percent.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bill Cipher had eyes everywhere.</p>
<p>Was he looking through Stanley’s?</p>
<p>Once he considered this, he found himself stopping in his tracks before he got any closer to his twin.</p>
<p>“You were right about me. I aint the most important person in this whole mess… but you are. I’m gonna keep Bill f-far away from this and from you. So that he’ll never-“</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan stopped talking to Ford’s horror and his face fell. His left eye shut along with his right and Ford could only choke on his words as Stanley lost his footing and toppled forward-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ford darted for him immediately, grabbing him under his arms before he hit the ground. “Stanley!” Ford screamed and held Stan the best he could but then collapsed to his knees under his twin’s weight. His fingers grazed the skin around the burn and Ford fiercely cringed as he held his shoulders for a better hold on his brother. </p>
<p>Pushing Stanley to be sitting on his knees, Ford’s thoughts jumbled together for what seemed like the millionth time this night.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> He’s passed out. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> What’s going on in his head?! </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Bill’s going to come back </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I should run while I still can. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Run. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Get away from here! </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> No. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> He needs me. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> There’s a chance I can wake him up! </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Please let there be a chance... </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stanley!” He shook Stan furiously by his arms and couldn’t stop tears from puddling into his eyes. “Stanley?! Oh, come on, not now!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Please don’t let his eyes be yellow. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Please don’t let his eyes be yellow. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stanley, please! I can’t do this without you!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I’m sorry. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stanley’s eyes opened, slowly at first, but then they snapped open abruptly.</p>
<p>Ford recoiled to see that all his pleas were unanswered as he jumped back, anger and denial boiling in his blood. He wasn’t the only one, however, when Bill returned to the driver’s seat of his next pawn, seething with a wave of unbridled anger that radiated off of him.</p>
<p><b>“You two!” </b> Bill practically <em> roared </em> and stood, grabbing the sides of Stanley’s head. “ <b>Are getting on my LAST nerve!”</b></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Run. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> RUN! </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ford’s heart raced, accelerating suddenly and he turned tail towards the laboratory, away from <strike>his brother</strike> Bill.</p>
<p>But he was readily halted, a hand snatched at the collar of his trenchcoat and ripped him backward. Bill whipped him around and grabbed his forearm tightly. Ford winced and tried to pull away, only to have Bill’s grip strengthen.</p>
<p>
  <b>“Oh now just you wait! You’re not getting away from this that easily! You two are constantly throwing wrenches into what I’m trying to do!”</b>
</p>
<p>“He tricked you, Bill! He’s not going to help you! He was never going to help you! I’m surprised you thought he would!”</p>
<p>Bill snarled. Ford swallowed down his nervousness and anxiety as he quickly continued, trying not to glance at the grip he had on his arm and keep a brave face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> If Stan can do this, so can I. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Y-You know you’re out of options! You allied with the one person you thought you could trust! And you can’t convince <em>me</em> again! I’ll stop you at any cost from activating that portal!” Ford raved and studied the demon before him.</p>
<p>Bill was infuriated, just as to be expected. But he seemed like he was pondering behind his yellowed eyes... as if he were looking for a solution.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Stanley broke him down to this. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>“So he set me up for failure! Big deal! I have plenty of other options to take, extending far beyond this point in time and place in existence! Remember?! I have visual access to an expanse of universes and possibilities! There’s always another route around incompetence!” </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Bill has made choices that led him this way.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> And he’s never been those close before. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He’s bluffing. He HAS to be. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Brave face. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh yeah? What would that be? Ditching this all together and going home? Back in your nightmare realm?! I know all about it, Bill! Just accept you’ll be permanently damned to that place! You’ll never get over here! You can’t! You have to wait for another human to summon you! Who knows how long that will take? It doesn’t matter <em> how </em>many of us you have to manipulate throughout time, No matter the cost, it’s as if you're prophesied to fail!”</p>
<p><b>“That’s it!” </b> Bill turned and threw Stanford down roughly, the blue light that radiated off the portal that was once behind his head now eclipsing his face. <b>“Do you realize how aggravating both of you are?! You can’t even fathom living in that place much less know all about it! it’s a lawless, incomprehensible bottomless pit! You don’t know how much you think you do, six-fingers! And you never will!”</b></p>
<p> </p>
<p>However...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bill redirected his gaze at the portal above him, churning with potential life, just on the verge of activity. Stanford stood abruptly and clenched his fists at his sides, standing his ground.</p>
<p>He watched the demon contemplate what had just come out of his mouth. And then he spoke again, with a sinister bite in his words.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>“If Stanley thinks he can double-cross </b> <b> <em>me</em> </b> <b> like that and won’t help me start things up...” </b> Bill started, glancing from the portal to Stanford and back. Just then, Bill’s eyes widened, ablaze with the fires of inspiration as a smile replaced the scowl he had beforehand. <b>“Then I’ll just have to give him a reason to!”</b></p>
<p>“W-what?” Stanford stuttered, startled and took a step back from the demon. However, when Bill ran, he wasn’t going for him and instead darted for the lever right by the cautionary tape on the ground in front of the portal. “Get away from that-!” Ford screamed and launched himself at Bill, but it was too late as Bill grabbed the lever and yanked it downwards.</p>
<p>The portal made a dreaded hum that thundered through the basement of the cabin. Ford stopped abruptly in his tracks and glanced over his shoulder at the portal in terror, then his face quickly darkened in rage before he charged again at his brother’s body. He raised his fists before Bill caught them both in his hands, pushing against his arms and staring into his eyes. </p>
<p><b>“It’s the one thing he’ll sacrifice everything for! It’s laughable even! Watch him be so desperate he’ll </b> <b> <em>beg me for answers</em> </b> <b>! You and I both know he’d never be able to figure this out on his own!”</b></p>
<p>Ford’s eyes locked with Bill as his anger once again descended into confusion and terror, pupils dilating as Bill stared him down.  </p>
<p>He pushed against the demon with everything he had but Bill still overpowered him, shoving him in the direction of the portal. </p>
<p>Ford stumbled backward and caught his footing, his feet grazing the cautionary tape on the ground. He already felt the back of his coat lift off the ground behind him and Ford’s vision darted around before it locked once again with those horrible familiar eyes on his brother’s face. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Everything about it was wrong and made his stomach churn in fear.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was too late to run.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He couldn’t protect himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He couldn’t protect Stanley.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ford watched in dismay as the blur of <strike>his twin</strike> became clearer in his vision as he got closer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bill Cipher advanced towards him, insanity bleeding from his voice, dragging through the atmosphere like a dull knife with too much force applied. The miserable reality perpetrated Ford’s very thoughts, the very same knife struck at where he stored everything he knew and everything he loved as he realized then</p>
<p> </p>
<p>there was nowhere left to go.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>“You want to know so much about the multiverse? The grand unified theory of weirdness? My nightmare realm? It’s always <em>nice</em> this time of year. Why don’t you pay it a </b> <b> <em>VISIT</em> </b> <b>?!”</b></p>
<p> </p>
<p>The last of his words shook the basement around them. With that, Bill Cipher advanced hastily towards Stanford. The human froze in shock as he received a hard shove in the chest</p>
<p> </p>
<p>and his feet left the ground</p>
<p> </p>
<p>gravity slipping out from under him</p>
<p> </p>
<p>and then</p>
<p> </p>
<p>instantly</p>
<p> </p>
<p>desperation</p>
<p> </p>
<p>anxiety</p>
<p> </p>
<p>panic</p>
<p> </p>
<p>finality</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No! This can’t be it!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No! <em> No! </em> Stanley! Help me! You have to wake up!” Ford <em> screamed </em> and <em> pleaded </em>for his brother, who was trapped in his own body and wouldn’t come back to save him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He flailed as gravity failed him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was nothing to grab onto.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was nothing to stop him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>“Have a nice trip, Sixer! Say hello to the folks on the other side! Tell them I won’t be long!” </b>Bill beamed, his smile stretching across his face once more.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stanley! Please wake up! Snap out of it!” Ford’s petrified gaze darted behind him and then back at his brother, the tail of his trenchcoat already being sucked into the ravaging vacuum of the portal, followed by his legs, then his torso. “D-don't let him activate the portal! Stanley!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stanford was then consumed to the end of his outstretched fingertips by the dreaded powerful color of the portal.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And then everything went white.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The fuel gauges dropped to empty after the blinding flash from the portal had befallen the entire basement, sending Stanley’s body plummeting backward. </p>
<p>He was laying on his side, a horrible burning in his shoulder festering in the dust of the ground. </p>
<p>It was like he was on the verge of consciousness, slipping like a fish swimming hurriedly upriver against a stream that was threatening to sweep him back into the flood of his brain. Like something had influence over his body and mind as they saw fit. However, though it had clashed with him before for control in his exhausted state of shock, it didn’t attempt to counter him now. </p>
<p>Like it <em> intended </em>for him to be at the helm of an already sinking ship because an oncoming storm threatened every decision he was bound to make.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Please wake up!” </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stanley jolted upward and his eyes darted around the basement, his hands under him gripping the cave-like ground mercilessly as he tumultuously looked around.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Snap out of it!” </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“S-stanford!?” He jumped to his feet, turning around every which way, anxiety bubbling within his throat, threatening to envelop his words as he was surrounded by evoking gray darkness of the deactivated machine.</p>
<p>“Stanford?! Stanford! Where are you?! C’mon, Poindexter, answer me!” He backed up quickly, his back bumping against the machine, his scorched shoulder colliding with freezing metal and he halted, spinning back around and taking stabilized steps in the other direction, looking up at the contraption looming over him. Not even the dim blue of the symbols on its ring shone anymore as it was completely</p>
<p> </p>
<p>and utterly</p>
<p> </p>
<p>vacant.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Unbreathing</p>
<p> </p>
<p>and lifeless.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And he knew instantly where his brother was.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Stanley! Help me!” </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wasn’t sure how he could’ve known himself at first, clutching the sides of his head in his hands and beginning to pace, muttering curses underneath his tongue and trying to hold on to the edge of the cliff that was indeed a reality- his reality. Stan’s frenzied footsteps echoed around him, suffocating him as he wasn’t <em> doing </em> anything but fretting something that already happened. His mind was fuzzy and mingling with someone else’s perspective and he wasn’t sure if he was in the area when he didn’t have control or in the back of his own head when Bill took over-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bill had taken over.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The demon had made his next move already.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stanford was <em> gone. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fuck! No, he can’t be gone!” Stanley raced to the lever, clamping two hands on the handle and yanking as hard as he could, all the muscles in his arms and shoulders straining to move it even just the tiniest bit, praying to whatever god he used to believe in to see the blue light again grace the basement in its luminance and his twin to tumble out unscathed. The seared muscle tissue that decorated his shoulder burned and his breath hitched and he shut his eyes as if he just looked into the sun. As if he just looked into a gargantuan, blue, triangular, humming sun and it swarmed him with the gentleness of its pale light and he jerked his grip back, pulling that fucking lever like he had earlier, all strength and endurance embedded in the metal that had powered it but</p>
<p> </p>
<p>the lever wouldn’t budge. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It wouldn’t move.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It wouldn’t <em> move! </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> “Don’t let him activate the portal!” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> “</em> <b><em>Then I’ll give him a reason to!”</em> </b></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“C’mon you damn thing—! Please! PLEASE I can’t lose him!!” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His mind was stuck, swimming and sinking in the storm that was his consciousness at the moment as he leaned against the lever, shoving it and then running over to the other end to pull it backward desperately. He put all his weight on the lever as his boots skidded and stomped on the dirt, kicking up dust and rocks. “I just got him back! I can’t lose him again! No, fuck!” His trial and error was the only thing that he could do in this situation, his mind reacting on instinct.</p>
<p>Bill Cipher took his brother from him.</p>
<p>Stanford was god knows where </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Somewhere called the nightmare realm. They were talking about it... </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Was he alive? Was he dead? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stanley sprinted from the portal room, running past the motion-activated door and flipped the three switches Bill had before on and off and then on and off but nothing worked, not even when he flipped them individually. There were no sounds to relieve him, no buzz, no activation, no hum or thunder-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>nothing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>absolutely nothing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Why am I trying to turn it back on?! </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> This goes against everything Ford told me! </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> But this is different, he’s IN the portal! </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> I have to get him out! </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan staggered back from the switches, the dials and gauges and screens and buttons and wires did nothing but breach on his claustrophobia and his senses were overstimulated when he realized everything before that was on and moving were rested in time, out of his control. He moved to the panel desk, analyzing the numerous controls and switches there were to the left, illuminated only by the still-burning lantern Ford had brought down with them before this whole charade had begun. It had been aglow since before the passageway was unearthed and still was its ghostlike golden gleam mocking him and Stan could practically still see the way it held Ford’s silhouette in its light as he was about to burden Stan with the journal-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The journal. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was still out in the car.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> The journal has answers. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Bill also has answers. He influenced the journal in the first place-!  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Ask him. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> No, that’s what he wants!  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Bill’s responsible. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bill?! Where are you, you insane bastard?! You bring him back right now!” Stanley ranted into the air, the silence receding momentarily before it bit back harder with a lack of response. “Bring Stanford back! Bring him back! I don’t care what I have to give you!”</p>
<p>No one responded to him.</p>
<p>“Ya listenin’ to me, wise guy?! I’ll beat you into a pulp! You’ll wish you hadn’t crawled out of your fuckin’ dimension in the first place! Answer me, ya cowardly triangle prick!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> You know what he wants. The only way to get Ford back </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> is to turn the portal on yourself. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> He needs a body. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This wasn’t how things were supposed to turn out. This was a rotten timeline. Something that never should have happened did happen in the first place. <em> His </em>strategy of what to do with Cipher was superior, knocking two birds with one stone and taking the demon and the journal far away from this project-</p>
<p>“Ford needed to know-!” Stan mumbled under his breath, pacing back and forth in the laboratory. </p>
<p>
  <em> Why did he need to know right then? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Maybe I just… needed him to think I had a plan…! I mean, I did! I didn’t expect this.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I didn’t want him to feel like I betrayed him. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I didn’t want him to feel like I was worth nothing after all. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“FUCK!” Stanley yelled and slammed his fists down on the control panel, the metal on the side that brimmed with life and fire cooling gradually while the portal slept. Bill had taken a dark turn, ruining everything Stan expected to do in one fell swoop, his whole strategy destroyed and corrupted as he cascaded deeper and deeper into the numbness of the basement. </p>
<p>Crestfallen, Stan leaned against his hands into the control panel desk and his eyes stared through the mess of hair that draped over his eyes. It was melancholic at first, a defeated and harsh reality cradled him like an unwanted plaything and he was moving farther into the embrace as he fixated on the damned contraption behind the glass, curtained by the same numbness he was slipping into. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stanford was gone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His brother, his twin, the one he hadn’t seen in ten years until finally tonight was gone.</p>
<p>The only way to get him back was to turn on the portal.</p>
<p>And to do that…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>he’d have to work with-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>No, that wasn’t an option.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was never gonna <em>be </em>an option.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ll figure this out myself. Gotta think of somethin’ else.” Stan growled to himself, slamming a hand down on the control panel as he stood himself up. “There’s gotta be a way to bring him back… while also keepin’ that monster over there. I’d just need to figure it out.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I can’t leave Ford in there for long. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I can’t figure it out. There’s no way- </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> What’ll happen to him? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> What if he’s already- </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan, haunted by the sudden dismal thought, yelled into the abyss in rage and aggravation and hurled the lantern from his left over his shoulder and through the doorway. Thankfully, it didn’t break upon impact with the ground but merely skidded across the floor, rolling from him and highlighting a forgotten pair of horn-rimmed glasses. Breath hitching in despair, Stan paced towards them and crouched, taking the glasses gently in his quaking hands. His face crumpled in distress when a few shards of the shattered right lens slipped from his fingertips and toward the ground once again until the right eye was empty.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> He’s not dead. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He pressured himself to think that and that alone. For both their sakes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> He’s not dead. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I’m gonna find him.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I’m going to bring him back.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Alive. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Snatching the lantern in his hand, Stanley made his way out of the portal room and towards the elevator, the golden light eclipsing a determined yet grieving countenance as he walked into it.</p>
<p>He’d get the journal from the car and figure this thing out tonight. He’d be damned if he was going to let Ford down this late into the game. This was plan B, or as much as one as he could make do with for now. Improvising when hard times hit hard was in his best abilities.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wasn’t about to be sunk just yet. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Let Bill have his win for now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was always another way.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The elevator doors closed and he ascended towards the surface, lantern clutched in a fierce and firm grip and the glasses in the other, fingers feeling through the open slot of the right side of them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t worry, Sixer. I’ll get ya back. Just give me some time to work out a backup plan.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Seeya around ford<br/>at least he'll come back... in time.</p>
<p>I was looking forward to writing this chapter since I still get to use ford's pov for awhile bc im love him<br/>Also to finally put in Stan's intended trap which backfired near the end. I saw a bunch of theories about Bill's open-ended deals (especially with Gideon) and how he uses those to his advantage and I didn't have a second thought about Stan using the same methods. I've been sprinkling similarities between the two throughout the fic like in the show, but the line with the loopholes was by far my favorite to put in. </p>
<p>I wanna write so much more, however, bc of current events the hours I work got bumped up majorly so :( slower updates but!! :D i do have a couple in progress</p>
<p>Things are looking bleak for Stan, especially after all of that already, but luckily my boy keeps on swingin even tho times get tough especially since he needs to protect that mindscape from something he doesn't much understand ;v; Thank ya'll for stickin around to this point!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Avoiding the Cameras</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p></p>
  <div class="resolved">
    <p> </p>
  </div>
</div><p>Continued in Journal 2.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>How many were there?</p>
<p>How many did he write?!</p>
<p>How many were out there?</p>
<p>Hopefully, it was just the two...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That can’t be everything, just go back and re-read…” he mumbled to himself. </p>
<p>Stanley hadn’t left the laboratory in approximately nine hours and counting. He was exhausted and his body ached, the throbbing in his shoulder rippling throughout his muscles and every once in a while causing the nerves in his hand on that side of his body to seize up. However, he couldn’t fall asleep nor could he close his eyes for one second or he could jeopardize everything. </p>
<p>“If you fall asleep, Stan, I will personally make it so you go without watching tv for the rest of your life. Now focus. C’mon.”</p>
<p>The first hour took to Stan walking out into the forest once more towards the car to fetch the journal from the ground on the passenger’s side and taking a glance or two at the birch tree Bill emerged from previously, the markings boring into his skin like eyes judging him from the inside out. When he returned to the cabin, he made a beeline to the basement, not once breaking his focus from what he had to do.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bill hadn’t come back in the time since.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not even to talk to him or mock him or hell, even take control as long as he could hitch a ride on Stan’s increasing exhaustion.</p>
<p>This was good for a number of reasons, Stan could get his bearings in and try to find a way to start the portal safely without any meddling, maybe even find a way to pull back people that had <em> just </em> gone in rather than taking something like monsters or demons out of it. His mind racked through all the possibilities of what he could do…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>However, if Bill wasn’t back by now…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No doubt he was busy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>While Stanford was out in the open and defenseless on the other side.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So after a couple more attempts with the lever and meandering throughout the laboratory trying to make sense of the dead lights that were ever so visual before, he planted himself to the desk in front of Journal 1. Frantically, Stan skimmed the pages with growing despondency, squinting, and actually trying, sincerely trying, to make <em> anything </em> out. This would be <em> so </em>much easier if he could see correctly and hadn’t been so damn stubborn about actually needing glasses...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Most of it was written in code.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Symbols of all kinds of abstruse nonsense danced in his faltering vision and with the first passage he saw with them, Stan made a mental note to skip it for the time being and return later…</p>
<p>But when each and every page was like the first, the mental notes hit a point where the dam would break and he couldn’t contain them all. It was a flooding reality, the severity making it so much more brutal than what he expected it to be. Sure, a lot was in English, but nothing that would directly aid him in his quest for answers.</p>
<p>The most helpful piece of information was a map of the town containing “gravity hot spots” which was vague in itself…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> What would happen to this place? </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>What would happen if I could activate it?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But he felt his breathing hitch and slow when he came across a manual override page that displayed a fail-safe if the portal were ever to result in too much damage to the earth around it.</p>
<p>This was a literal doomsday device. There was no other way to explain it. </p>
<p>What’s worse is that he didn’t have time to process any of it but instead take it for what it was. It was new information that was so critical to understand but it was a damn script from a goddamn feature film. Crazy scientists, books of cryptic writings, end-of-the-world scenario... the list was packed with these features.</p>
<p>The first journal was chalked full with fluff of his brother’s time in gravity falls, running around basically and scraping up any anomaly possible, detailing anything he could possibly find of the creature. </p>
<p>The menacing eye-bats scribbled on one page only reminded Stan of his current predicament as he dug his nails into the sides of his head and stressfully bunched up the hair in his fists as he flipped to the contents beyond, forcing himself into all kinds of mysteries and conspiracies his twin discovered including the supposed “fountain of youth”, which was obviously a hoax if he’s ever seen one.</p>
<p>Stan would have probably been skeptical at first if not for the ludicrous amount of notes and also the fact his body, the one he’s had since day one, was being monitored and possessed by a literal dream demon out for the destruction of humanity. But bigfoot existed and was primarily a tea drinker so why not write about that?</p>
<p>Once it was followed up by the first cataloging of the portal project did Stan press himself in his tired and decrepit state to focus on what was being written. There were written instructions for the activation of this thing, even as a laid-out procedure that consumed several pages post the diagram and scattered notes on its outline. </p>
<p>However, even with a procedure and steps on the different stages of activation, a majority of the stuff that was relevant was missing, completely absent, including what the symbols on the portal ring even meant outside of the best guesses and assumptions Stanley could conjure up being that they were chemical symbols, constellations, or something else. Ford always did have an interest in the night sky (it was one of the many various things that fascinated him) and what the stars hid behind them. He’d never taken astrology, much less majored in it, and looking at the symbols and the scripture was mind-numbing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ford’s still in there.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wherever he was.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s been…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>how long?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He doesn’t have any food…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>or water.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>or his glasses.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Does he even have a way to breathe?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Goddammit! Stop it! Focus, you knucklehead!” Stan cursed at his diverting attention span, grimacing and narrowing his eyes as he read on, glancing every so often at the controls on his left and now, in one of the only sections of English in the procedure it said to flip those switches and buttons in correspondence with the primary program code to initiate the startup. </p>
<p>What the hell was the program code?</p>
<p>Was that code also in code? How paranoid did Ford have to be to code every single damn word in this book? How could he even translate all this bullcrap?</p>
<p>Was it in the journal and he just so happened to miss it?</p>
<p>No, he’s skimmed that thing too many times. The process to put this thing in motion looked as though it could span over days of managing and monitoring it. But Stanley wasn’t all the way sure as the procedure cut off a part of the way through and when he flipped to the next page, his blood boiled with frustration to see</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Continued in Journal 2.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> You just couldn’t cram it all into one book and save the bit about the alien spaceship, floating cliffs and the enchanted forest for a sequel?! </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This was much more than Stan could have ever bargained for, especially considering the countless uses of symbols and encryptions. There was nothing in this he understood, not even the few decoders laced throughout the pages among the inane scribbles of the demon that started this dumpster fire.</p>
<p>Maybe there was something else around here that could help him… or something in the clutter on the upper levels of the shack.</p>
<p>It donned on him there was also a whole other floor to check as well. Ford said it was nothing important, which, by his genius brother’s standards, meant it was “really important but you’re not seeing it anytime soon.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Yeah, okay. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> You’re not here to tell me what to do. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> You’re not here to hold me back. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> You're not here at all.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stanley closed his eyes tight and slammed the journal closed, the thud it made the only sound in the basement. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I can’t believe I lost you.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nope!” He exclaimed, slamming his hand on the desk. “He’s not-“ Stan pinched the corners of his eyes and slumped over the journal, rising from the chair at the desk. “He ain’t lost. He’s just on the other side. Maybe he’d think I wouldn’t listen and is waiting on coming home right now. This can't be that hard. It ain't rocket science-”</p>
<p>As far as he knew, it might as well be.</p>
<p>Stan sighed and his hand flopped onto the control panel desk, his eyes opening sluggishly as he looked about the desk, the papers and notes left over from his brother’s research littered it as if it was just another one from upstairs. </p>
<p>He noticed a compartment in the back of the desk and reached forward to open it, small notebooks stocked inside it tumbling over like dominos upon the disturbance.</p>
<p>
  <em> At least Ford left me with enough junk to sort out some things around here. Get some of this equipment up and running…  </em>
</p>
<p>Stan found a spot and slid journal 1 under the books that fell and pressed it up against them to support them upright in the convenient storage space. Sliding the compartment closed, Stan stood and felt a pang in his shoulder when he pressed against the desk.</p>
<p>He’s no use to his twin like this, hindered by confusion, shock, and exhaustion. There was a risk to take to sleep, and weighing his odds, it was a little too high of a risk. Bill takes over again and he could easily bypass into the basement and begin the activation</p>
<p> </p>
<p>and what would happen then?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan frantically running around the laboratory when he would wake up (<em> if </em> he could even wake up) trying and failing to turn everything <em> off </em> instead? What if Bill thinks to destroy his only source of answers? If the demon somehow got past him and burned the book then...</p>
<p>Stan would have no choice but to give in and build the portal, blind to the consequences of everything Bill instructed him to do. </p>
<p>A nonresistant ragdoll of a bodily host.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This place had to be protected at all costs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It had to be secured from even himself when he was sleeping and inaccessible by any physical means.</p>
<p>But how was it possible to accomplish both?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Work on the portal</p>
<p> </p>
<p>yet</p>
<p> </p>
<p>keep it locked up?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> There’s got to be a way. There has to. C’mon, you dirt-for-brains, actually think of something for once in your life. Because Ford’s life is depending on it. </em>
</p>
<p>He seized the lantern from off the desk and mumbled to himself as he walked again to the elevator. “Man, Sixer. How’d I letcha wind me up in this?” </p>
<p>Stepping into the elevator, Stan started his ascent to the first floor, hearing the creaking of the elevator around him pitching at first then dulling to all the mechanics of the otherwise quiet cabin.</p>
<p>His curiosity spiked when he passed by a red wooden door with golden accents and a lock placed dead center of it. </p>
<p>
  <em> That must be the room Ford said not to be concerned about. Well, now i’m concerned about it. Some lockpicking and I’ll be in there in no time. Probably. Unless it’s all tech-y like everything else around this place... </em>
</p>
<p>Stanley walked out of the elevator when it stopped and climbed the stairs with the lantern in hand, but found when he reached the top, the daylight from a boarded-up window to his right leaked through the splits in the wood. The iron-plated door to the basement had been kept open when Bill had entered the code and made his journey to it during the first possession. In light of this, Stanley let it be for the time, taking a gander around his brother’s cabin from his current viewpoint. He needed to find where Ford kept his first aid stuff (if there was any) but knowing Ford’s quarrel with Bill had been going on for some time, it was most likely that sadist would have hurt his brother more while he was occupying him. There had to be some bandages or something because going into town wasn’t an option at this point.</p>
<p>Stanley was no stranger towards new surroundings, especially if they were under surveillance at any given time. Navigation came especially easy to someone like him who had to fly under the noses of the law after his scent… especially when they had dogs. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Especially </em> when they had dogs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fleeing the Columbian prison had been hard enough but when the hounds were sent after him... </p>
<p>Well, it may have been an unpopular opinion, but he found it actually a lot more difficult to con over an animal than a human. Maybe because humans understood a bit more to their knowledge, leading them to be dense and cocky while a dog mainly reacted on instinct. They had one goal in the end and that was to nab the target at hand, who was in a place that they were extremely unfamiliar with in the first place, the human much more like a rat in a man-made maze.</p>
<p>It was an absolute necessity to be quick on his feet and after so long of living that restless lifestyle, improvisation was a natural talent in any given area, even if said area was unrecognizable. He had gathered a broader layout from his time on the outside of the cabin, entering through the front door of the house and now gathering he was near to the back of the house, the backdoor being firmly barred with multiple padlocks and more boards over the window. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His brother had actually gone insane.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(If he was being honest with himself, he thought the crazy scientist shtick was just a thing that happened in movies.)</p>
<p>All because of Ford's alliance with that mangy triangle.</p>
<p>(Not to him. Why on earth would this happen to <em> him? </em>  Well, if he was keeping score, this would blend nicely with all the other crazy bullshit he’s had to endure so far.)</p>
<p>Stanley pressed his lips together and looked away from the door, trying to barricade it from his mind, block the fact his brother was <em>just gone</em> now rather than had gone insane. </p>
<p>The brand on his back had been festering all night, and he hadn’t removed his jacket nor his shirt that had gotten seared through and had burned around his skin. His hair brushed the skin around it and it would send a subconscious jolt through his body which he wouldn’t react to in lieu of other things.</p>
<p>Meandering through the hallways, he kept his head lowered at any possible symbolism there could have been of Bill. He was catching on to general eyes but who knows what else Bill could use to see? What average and normal objects could be a peephole into humanity’s common life? Hell, markings on a god damn tree were evidence enough to how ludicrously insufferable this was going to be for him. </p>
<p>Stan located the mess of the kitchen, some cupboards and drawers left wide open unexpectedly. He glanced at a couple of broken plates that littered the floor and shards that were scattered by the fridge. Curious, he stepped over to it, the remains of the crumbled dinnerware crunching into the floor under his boot as he opened the fridge to see it completely barren.</p>
<p>“Great,” Stan muttered to himself, bridging on a growl. “Bright side though. At least there ain’t no dead something or whatever in here.” Opening the freezer above the fridge, it was also empty except for a half-empty bag of ice. “Geez… you looked like you weren’t eatin’ before but there ain’t <em>anything</em> here.”</p>
<p>
  <em> And I ain’t got shit to begin with. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Spent it all on that damn motel room. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> And here I thought you stockpiled for the storm. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Yet I thought a lot differently of you before this whole thing. </em>
</p>
<p>He closed the freezer gently and walked around the kitchen, peering into cabinets and drawers that didn’t obtain much. Nevertheless he located a lower cabinet that contained, thank god, a can of brown meat and Baron Num Num’s high flying beans. That would be useful even if it was intended to most likely be an apocolypse meal.</p>
<p>There were no knives… or forks. No silverware of any sort besides the occasional spoon that lay crushed in between cabinet hinges to somehow...keep them pried open? Really, the only thing that was present in the kitchen was the coffee maker on a countertop near a window which had curtains nailed down into the wall…</p>
<p>A tremor snaked up his spine and Stanley backed out of the kitchen, making his way around his own self-directed tour of his brother’s house that was in shambles. It seemed larger than it did on the outside, </p>
<p> </p>
<p>much larger in fact</p>
<p> </p>
<p>mystical and unyielding</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Even the staircase that led to the second floor felt longer than the last time he saw it and much more daunting. He remembered the instinct he had when visiting for the first time and being studied by that triangular window of the attic floor. Now, with what he knew, the rest of his trek had him hunching over, feeling eyes that <em> lay </em>into him from in the walls and in the floors and the windows...</p>
<p>He knew the creature, even though not present, had a keen sight that speculated everything he did and every word he spoke. </p>
<p>It could hear every thought that passed through his skull and Stanley pondered fearfully if Bill had already manipulated them... </p>
<p>if Bill was making him feel like the environment was expanded and endless.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or if all that was just his mind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His eyes were wary and observant, taking in every potential detail of his twin’s house, from every creak in the floorboards to shelves of research specimens and intellectual artifacts on top of many obvious work stations disheveled with smaller contraptions that might as well be identified as straight alien tech.</p>
<p>There was a smaller staircase down apart from the rest of the rooms and quite isolated from the rest of the house, where a decorated door with a golden handle was found to be open at the base floor. Stan strode inside to a decently-sized room with a shag carpet and another boarded up window, where yet more artifacts could be found perched upon a series of furniture-</p>
<p>“Dammit.” Stan grumbled as his eyes locked with a multicolored glass prism that rested itself on a dresser. “You’re even in here, huh? Figures.” He opened one of the dresser drawers and pushed the prism into it, hearing it tumble into hiding. “Ain’t no way I can get ridda all your ways of spying in this state. Even if you weren't using this in the first place... it has better places to be.” He glanced towards the wall, where some wood was shaped and contorted in a pattern that nearly(?) resembled an eye, directly opposite a couch that rested beneath the boards of the stained-glass window. He didn’t even know if it was intentional.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> It’s not. It’s natural. It’s just the curves in the wood. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Nothing’s natural anymore. Nothing's usual and nothing can be just dismissed at first glance. Everything you thought you knew before about the world was a lie.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> The supernatural exist. Demons exist. There’s more behind this world that even people much much much smarter than you have only theorized about. Think about it, you now know so much more than even the top brainiacs on earth. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Nothing is normal anymore and nothing will ever be normal again. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was nothing in here that could help him in any way without putting heaps of pressure on him from the get-go. There was a bookshelf near the door as Stanley turned his back to leave and he let his eyes graze the contents of it. Textbooks lined themselves neatly amongst the shelves, probably the only thing that was tidy in this cabin. Physics, Chemistry, astrology (that’d help him figure things out with those symbols) as well as cryptology and other related fields of science and things Ford pursued.</p>
<p>Something that was humanly his brother.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Everything will be normal again when he comes back. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan left the room, walking up the staircase and into the other rooms of the house, taking to the entrance and narrowing his eyes at the route to the second floor above him.</p>
<p>
  <em> Where you keepin’ your first aid stuff, Sixer? </em>
</p>
<p>It’s gotta be in the restroom somewhere. He wasn’t sure if the spacious cabin had one or two, but while he walked up the staircase, the wood creaking under his weight, he kept his senses alert.</p>
<p>Stanley found the restroom, his legs almost took him right past the entrance before he skidded to a stop and veered into the entryway-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Oh </p>
<p>fuck.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His brown eyes were wide as he took in the scene before him, the countertop was littered with empty boxes of gauze and bandages, used strands of the stuff strewn about the flooring of the restroom as well as capsules of some kind of medicine littered uselessly on the tiled floor. There was a cabinet above the sink, one of those that doubled as a mirror, yet it was wide open and there was something inside, and Stan ambled cautiously into the room, hoping that there was at least some leftover to tend to his burn...</p>
<p>The house was in disarray but this was a new level of nightmare. It was a no brainer that the bandages and gauze laid out were slicked with bloodstains, some viciously wrapped together with medical tape to form an patch of sorts-</p>
<p>When Stanley’s very hesitant footsteps approached the sink, they were the only sounds that could be heard outside of the steady dripping of water from the sink head as well as his shaky breathing as his eyes darted around the bathroom. There were splatters of blood in the sink, already browned over like they had been there for a while and Stan couldn’t help but feel his own blood chill in his veins as he was the only witness to what appeared to be a goddamn <em>murder</em> zone.</p>
<p>God, who knew how long Stanford was suffering through this? Through Bill? This was chaos incarnate and it made every movement of his</p>
<p> </p>
<p>slow</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As he tried to fix his attention towards the cabinet but could help his darting eyes travel about the restroom, feeling the dread and panic of the mess and of demonic eyes making eye contact with his own </p>
<p>even though he couldn’t spot them directly. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Where were they?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But he knew they were here too. Like they were in the rest of the house. He wondered if Bill was watching him with glee at discovering what was left of what he’d done to Stanford, what evident misery his twin had endured at the hands of the demon based on the state here and the rest of the house…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Don’t focus on the room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Please don’t focus on the room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> How the hell am I gonna do this? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He examined the interior of the medicine cabinet and grabbed a half-used roll of bandaging. There was also a pill bottle toppled on its side with capsules that had fallen about the shelf and then out onto the counter below and in the sink. Shrugging off his coat, grunting away the sharp pain upon its removal, Stanley scavenged what he could of what remained behind the mirror and turned on the sink, rinsing the scarred tissue on his shoulder and biting his bottom lip as he recovered what little there was of gauze and bandages. </p>
<p>Maybe when he could get his car out of the snow could he get into town and snag something that could prevent infection... Whiskey sounded nice in itself right about now and his mind grazed the memory of the bourbon he acquired in the dream in the motel. Unfortunately, due to the whole end-of-his-rope event just days earlier, alcohol had run dry in his pockets and in his car. There was also an absense of such in Ford's kitchen because he wouldn't expect anything different.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Figures.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But dealing with an infection-induced fever in the middle of winter was ideally not the greatest idea when the dedication needed to be in deciphering whatever the hell was going on in that book.</p>
<p>How was it even possible? When Bill was watching him from all angles? He was also an issue being so close to the world-ending contraption in the first place when </p>
<p>Stanley was the one harboring the psychotic demon in his very skin while he slept. </p>
<p>He wasn’t getting out of this one.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Damn this whole thing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Damn it all to hell,” Stanley muttered under his breath as he closed the cabinet, the mirror showing him his face and his heart ceased to beat as he jolted backward. “<em>f</em> <em> ucking </em>shit-!” He scampered back and tripped on the edge of a bathtub behind him, hands flailing for the shower curtain to attempt to break his fall to no avail. His breathing was heavy, heartbeat racing as he stared straight ahead at the mirror above the sink</p>
<p> </p>
<p>bloodied</p>
<p> </p>
<p>with eyes messily drawn on the glass and words accompanying them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>HEARING VOICES. NONE OF THEM MY OWN.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“shit-!” Stanley repeated and scrambled up out of the bathtub, tugging at his white t-shirt at his chest and still holding the bandages in his white-knuckled grip as he left the restroom, his feet skidding on a carpet placed outside of the doorframe.</p>
<p>
  <em> Bill you sick fuck! </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> I’m gonna kill you for what you did to him! </em>
</p>
<p>Stanley ran from the restroom towards the stairs before stopping at the top of the stairs and panting, gripping the stairwell with his free hand. He felt nauseous by what he just witnessed and the innumerable amount of eyes from within the house he could feel view the hairs rise on his arms. He wanted to hightail it back down to the basement but he accomplished nothing so far. He didn’t know how to work around Bill while he was being watched like this.</p>
<p>Rays of daylight shone in his peripheral vision, and his gaze turned towards it, the light standing out broadly in the dark and cold cabin. It emerged from a window in a separate room, the wooden door to it open and still as the light crept through the boards on the outside of the shack. Stanley let go of the stairwell and walked cautiously toward the attic room, attention fixated on that boarded-up triangular window that had acted as a bypassed warning to the events that would take place soon after. What he felt when seeing it for the first time repeated once more, maximized this time around as the water dripping from the sink in the bathroom far behind him coincided with the beating of his heart. The blood in his veins was as chilled as the temperature that lingered in the wooden shack, as he found himself facing the window, his reflection muddled in the glass.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>All he saw, however, was Stanford.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Driven out of his mind, out of his body.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The look of horror streaked across his expression.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But yet, as he continued to stare through the window</p>
<p> </p>
<p>he saw the demon</p>
<p> </p>
<p>staring back at him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Just as he had been through so many windows around the shack.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Just as he had in the motel. In the trees. In the rooms he passed and the one he had just come from.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The whole plan initially was to get what he wanted and leave. Take Bill’s whole “alliance” and book it out of there, starting nothing in the process but instead taking what he needed- the book and Cipher.</p>
<p>Instead, he was in a place where he was being monitored at all times. A place that essentially, he was trapped in until he could escape with Ford in-toe. A place that had viewpoints everywhere on his head, on his face, on his back...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was a place</p>
<p> </p>
<p>he could work with.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Think of it in a different light.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bill's got cameras everywhere.” Stan mumbled, still looking into the window at his reflection. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn’t see his brother anymore.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nor Bill.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He saw himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His brow knitted together as he thought of a plan.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Work around the cameras. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was no necessity to remove them or block them off if they were unavoidable. The best way to not lose your head in a heist is to move around prying eyes, find blind spots, essentially fooling them into thinking you were just another person that’s working for what peace is trying to be kept. In this case, it’s one of the reasons Ford had lost his mind. Had become desperate. </p>
<p>Stan couldn’t afford to become desperate at this point, not when he was Ford’s core lifeline home. In fact, Bill was possibly expecting him to sink in the same sand that had consumed his twin only days before.</p>
<p>He wasn’t Ford, though.</p>
<p>Ford and him were the same in Bill’s eye. Another part of the game. However, he couldn’t predict what Stanley could do because the broader twin was a whole different ballpark when Bill just came to the plate with the same bat.</p>
<p>To avoid Bill reading him and predicting his next move thus developing more pitches and tricks to sway his new partner over, Stanley would have to use his usual poker face and slip through the shelves, pretending as he belonged in a way in order to get that portal on</p>
<p> </p>
<p>and keep Bill over on the other side.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It might take some work. Especially because he was no genius and if Ford just held on for a little bit longer he could figure out the instructions downstairs and using the map of the gravity spots around this town, could set a course to find the other journals.</p>
<p>Bill would watch, could watch, even take over when he slept until he figured out how to lock the basement while he could.</p>
<p>What else did Ford not have that he could weaponize against a <em> dream </em>demon?</p>
<p>What could be a viable weapon for a creature that lurks in the mind?</p>
<p>Think of what Ford was scared of. What clues he had.</p>
<p>Stanley frowned and turned out of the attic, wandering back down the stairs with bandages on hand and let his fingers slip down the stair rail. Any notes his brother had left behind, any codes of any kind would be useful…</p>
<p>He eventually stuffed the bandages in the front pocket of his jeans and made his way to the desk that Ford retrieved the journal from initially and grabbed as many papers as he could. Then, Stan made his way to grab a textbook or two that could help in any way decipher what the hell was going on downstairs. The weight of everything in his arms was straining his shoulder, but with all the will he had stored in him, shoved the pain into the depths of his mind to press on.</p>
<p>Making his way back to the passageway leading downstairs to the elevator, he halted at the sight of the metal doorway which was cracked open, albeit slightly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And the numerical panel to its right.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The door was only unlocked with some kind of numerical pin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Something that can be reset. Codes can be reset. There was somethin’ like that in the journal. How to keep Bill from a reset code will be tricky but… I think I got an idea.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stanley, with his resources gathered in his arms, stepped into the elevator and descended once more into the basement, eyes locked and focused on the closing doors before the sound of metal moving around him pulled his transport into the depths of the darkness.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> If this doesn’t work… I don’t know what I’m gonna do. </em>
</p>

<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Omg thanks to those who stuck around this was the longest period for me of not updating a fic it kills<br/>Uh ya that writers block is a real thing on top of work but holy heck do I have ideas again :D This fic is getting longer and idk what to do with myself hmm</p>
<p>Anywayyy<br/>more chapters to come! This one was my interpretation at some kind of cool-down after all the craziness of ol' Fordsy dipping into the multiverse. Speaking of which<br/>wonder where Bill is</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. A Trip Down False Memory Lane</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His mindscape was a greyscale space, the snow under his sock-covered feet held no bite to it. The absence of the cold was nice at first until he realized where he was.</p>
<p>Instantly Stanley knew he was dreaming. His breath froze in his chest when he realized him being here means that Bill was on the other side-</p>
<p>No.</p>
<p>There was something odd about how he could tell that his body was sleeping, too exhausted to support any strain of consciousness to pilot it, whether it was himself or the supernatural entity that currently stayed rent-free. Though he was bound to suffer the consequences of actually waking up later to a sore back because of being hunched over a notepad and a textbook, Stan would take advantage of this moment while he had it. </p>
<p>He was smack dab in the center of a forest, the undergrowth suffocating with the bountiful snow, which cascaded down in parts from the trees above. The snowy wasteland was an imitation of that he had dealt with traversing before, except the atmosphere had no temperature and his car was buried up to the middle in a snowdrift behind him. Frowning at the sight of his baby in that state, he willed all the winter to go away, receding throughout his mindscape and trailing into nothingness. Foliage was replaced with it as well as moss, rocks and twigs that littered the ground beneath his feet. </p>
<p>He couldn’t say for certain if he’s seen his own mind before, or if the real "mindscape" was just another way of saying "fancy dream but this time make it personal." This was Ford’s work, he’d for sure know the answer as his research demanded him to become knowledgeable, being that Bill had a “home” in the projection of the mind. Stan walked along the forest ground, rolling up the sleeves of his crimson jacket as he wandered around his dreaming state, eventually and inescapably discovering Ford’s cabin in a clearing of the woods, completely deserted on the outside. </p>
<p>It was a hollow mass, a great foreboding landmark that was hidden before in the fog before he strode upon it. The ground underneath the shack was... different than the rest of the forest. It was sand, like there was a beach there before. Now that the cabin's appeared, the sand only stretched a few meters from the deck. The fog that engulfed him and his mind, however, wouldn’t disembark no matter how much he willed it, so he assumed it was there for a reason. </p>
<p>That was just how it was.</p>
<p>"Heh. Foggy mind. I get it. No need to explain that to me... Know it aaaall too well." Stanley chuckled to himself.</p>
<p>The one thing he couldn't really get was the black and white thing. He dreamed in color, after all.</p>
<p>The shack was inviting, naturally, and its door rocked open in an invisible wind. From what Stan could speculate, the inside was a hollow void, shadows lurked beyond the door and didn’t seem to be retreating. So of course, Stan walked confidently up the murder porch of the horror cabin and into it like nothing was off at all.</p>
<p>The darkness at first was suffocating and he hoped something would appear the longer he continued his trek inside, either out of fear or anticipation. Finally, the shadows receded and a maze of doors presented themselves in front of him and he knew they would open to memories that weren’t the main focus right now. </p>
<p>He couldn't recall ever being here before, like put a date to when he explored around for the first time but for some reason, it was familiar. Thank god <em>something </em>was familiar! Maybe it didn't work as it would in the real world where you just come up across a new place at a certain point in time. Perhaps, in a weird way, he's <em>always</em> been walking through his mindscape, making memories, deleting them, all while time passed on.</p>
<p>This was weird. Giving him a headache. Boring science-y mumbo jumbo. Alright, why is he here?</p>
<p>It was a chore getting used to the fabric of the mind, its recklessness and tendency to shape itself was difficult to control at first on a grander scale because it’s morphed by the person it’s the representative of. His, in particular, was wild and uncontrollable, with broken staircases that led to nowhere, doors floating without a route to get to them, divided wooden paths that really didn't help at all. Were the minds of others actually somewhat stable or was he just as much a nuisance as what navigation was in this place?</p>
<p>No, in the end, navigation didn't matter, really, when you could just shape the area around you just by thinking about it. </p>
<p>He was very good at this. Bill didn't want him to be. But he was, so that corn chip can dream himself up a box of Kleenex and cry about it. </p>
<p>When Ford returned in the future, Stan could only think of the look on his face when he got to tell his brother what he could do here and how “reality” is modeling clay at least for a little while when you’re unconscious. It was nice how you can be aware of it by sheer willpower. </p>
<p>It even... made him feel a little bit like a superhero in some of the comic books he's read as a kid. Hell, he could be one here if he really wanted to. But it was too early in the process to imagine himself wearing skin-tight pants. Stanley passed up the vision- for now.</p>
<p>Right now, Stanley was going to have to face his "inner demon", pun not intended. Bill, though, had been doing this mind-thing for years, much longer than humanity’s been the latest rage at least, and his pride was unbreakable in that respect. Stan would have to take measures to reroute the layout of his own mind before Bill did, and keep tabs of what could change with his parasite's playground. He couldn't forget how Bill pulled the memory of the boy in the window in his failed pitch from Ford’s head. Stanley could only imagine the same thing could happen here. Cipher could pull unwanted memories to his benefit and so Stanley willed them into the floorboards, into the walls and the ceilings, between and alongside the staircases and even on the outside of the shack overwhelming his mind. </p>
<p>As Stanley took to his mindscape, he meandered through the chaos of doors holding plainly worthless memories, or ones he’d tend to surface that meant absolutely nothing at all. A door swung open to him putting a cool can of beer on a black eye outside a train station in Minnesota and then another opened to him shoplifting some bandages and candy bars from that one gas station right along the border of Arkansas and Oklahoma once he crossed state lines with a new id in his pocket. These things were exactly what he wanted out in the open, what any intruder would get to see first.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Oh yeah, that's right.</p>
<p>He <em>did </em>have an intruder. It was a weird kinda-sense? To explain it? But there was someone else here that wasn't a memory.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bill?!” Stanley called out into the nothingness of the fog, briskly walking down a staircase and hearing his feet stomp softly on the wood grain. “I know you’re somewhere in here-!” His breath shifted the fog around it as he wandered continuously down staircases and then alongside hallways containing multiple different memories. </p>
<p>Until he stumbled upon a door vastly different from the rest. Steel-plated with a black handle, panel, and slightly cracked open, it was obvious at first glance this was another entry to a hallway or a room or a-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Regular set of stairs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>leading down.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not the irregular ones that loomed in the mismatched design of his mind but rather the familiar sight Ford had led him to that began this entire situation. This was the staircase to the basement, being unfairly projected by himself upon himself. It was obvious that his mind would conjure up some sort of symbolic way to recreate the setting of the circumstance he was in, sure, but this wasn’t needed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This wasn’t here before.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And his breathing became shallow as the fog descended upon him, over his shoulders and down the passageway towards the laboratory, flooding the basement with the murky gray that blended in with the dark. Frustrated, Stan imagined a flashlight to appear in his hand and it was summoned, to then he stepped into the doorway and down the steps as they came.</p>
<p>This was new and he feared this was where he was keeping some innermost thoughts if not secrets he had stored away unintentionally, repressing them into this dismal cavern behind his consciousness. And the door was <em>open? unguarded? </em></p>
<p>"Geez. This oughta be fun."</p>
<p>When he reached the bottom, there was the elevator just as expected but there was only one floor down where there would be two. The symbol was replaced for the third floor.</p>
<p>Into the shape of a triangle.</p>
<p>“So he made himself a place here, huh? We’ll see about that.” Stanley called up the elevator, but when the doors opened, the laboratory had already appeared, thick fog trailed into the area from the new entryway, lingering amongst the screens and other equipment his mind decided to replicate. It was a wider area, <em>much </em>larger than the laboratory itself, and some machines were stationed on floorboards that broke off from his path and hovered a fair distance away.</p>
<p>Taking a deep breath in and furrowing his brows, he fixed the flashlight ahead of him, shining away the brume that suspended itself in the lower levels of his mind. His attention turned to some of the screens as he walked past them, observing their staticky pictures. As he pulled the pieces together, they were memories that were being… faded. They weren't secrets... they were just all weird for some reason?</p>
<p>One screen was just a series of faces cycling through and they were barely recognizable, consisting of people he's owed money to in the past or others he's hustled in games of pool, etc. These were people that <em>would </em>be mad at him <em>if </em>they could find him once he's jumped state lines. Coming across them would lead to a "haven't seen your ugly mug before in my life, pal" and he'd work from there.</p>
<p>Another screen was nothing but instances of when his true name was spoken from other mouths besides his own. The faces of people he’s seen in the past flashed up on screen, rotating with the next like slides on a reel. His mom showed up for half a second, with a scorning “Stanley!” and then it cut to his teen brother and others beyond him saying the same thing in different tones and different voices.</p>
<p>He was getting distracted.</p>
<p>He needed to find Bill.</p>
<p>Stanley descended into the basement, the beam from the flashlight driving away the fog, forcing it to surrender into the shadows as he bypassed the laboratory door. </p>
<p>Where the portal should have been kept.</p>
<p>The fog was so overwhelming here, the murky haze choking out the light from even the flashlight he held in his hand, now trembling with how tight he was holding it. </p>
<p>“Bill?! I know you’re down here! Come on out, you three-sided freak!”</p>
<p>The fog bank pulled back,</p>
<p>generating a clearing in the portal room</p>
<p>amongst the clearing was</p>
<p>an arrangement of lounges, over a carpet with a familiar triangular entity detailed on it. A roaring fireplace was placed to the back wall alongside a classy black piano. The fireplace, just like every other space in the mindscape, generated no heat within it and thus the space carried its familiar lack of temperature. The piano played by itself, keys being pressed by an invisible force and a jazzy tune being played solemnly, echoing in the vast atmosphere. Stanley scowled, walking towards the clearing, disdain flickering in his expression. </p>
<p>“You’ve really made a space for yourself, huh? I was right. So you do plan on stickin’ around.”</p>
<p>Stanley sat on one of the lounges, a plush velvet armchair placed beside the fireplace. While the heat was absent, the sound of the crackling wood wasn’t and if he was tired, he could easily fall asleep at the moment. Bill was in here, however, probably prowling around and spying in on what his mind had to offer. </p>
<p>Trying to find something.</p>
<p>
  <b>“Where is it, Stanley?”</b>
</p>
<p>“Where’s what?” Stan put his hands behind his head as he spat out the response. Bill’s echoing and shrill tone rang throughout the mindscape though he couldn’t see him directly.</p>
<p>
  <b>“The code to the basement. Where’d you hide it?”</b>
</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, ain't you the master of all this? Mean, that's what ya told me. Got your PhD and all that in mental bullcrap? Surely <em>you</em> would have seen it turn up by now.” Stan frowned and sat up, looking out at the room and scanning for the demon. “Don’t think we can’t pretend you didn’t skip out after you pushed Ford into the portal! Why don't we talk about that for now?!”</p>
<p>An eye opened up in the darkness several feet away from where Stanley sat, its thin pupil studying him with a fierce gaze. Stanley was undeterred as he stared at the horror fade into existence, the triangular form blooming from the fog. It hovered above the carpet, the fire from the fireplace reflecting in the white of Bill’s eye.</p>
<p>
  <b>“I had to. You wouldn’t work with me otherwise.”</b>
</p>
<p>Bill’s tone was exceptionally dark. This was surprisingly unlike him. The playful insanity was quite different than whatever the fuck was going on now with him. This was a turn of events, maybe.</p>
<p>“Who says I’m workin’ with you now? I’m gonna do everything I can to-“</p>
<p><b>“Yeah, yeah. Restart the portal without letting me out, I get it. I’ve heard it. Your thoughts can be so repetitive! Let me guess,” </b> Bill hovered closer to Stan, materializing his cane to “lean” on though he was suspended in mid-air. <b>“You’re gonna ask where your brother is and if he’s even still ALIVE.”</b></p>
<p>Stan did his best not to tense up in front of the creature and show how fearful he really was about his twin’s condition. How much he’s pressed himself to stay awake and practically drowned himself in cup of coffee after cup of coffee just to keep his eyes imprinted in the print of the journal and the books Ford had surrounded himself with, burdening himself with so much more knowledge than what he could handle in such a short amount of time. It was a foreign language, everything was, and he was grateful enough to just figure out the door to the basement before Bill returned and had an opportunity with him. The best thing to do was take a deep breath and swallow down any panic that was swiftly brimming through his veins. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bill was a liar. Bill was a con. Bill would say or do anything to get what he wants.</p>
<p>Sounds like someone he knows.</p>
<p>Just push all the fear back. </p>
<p>Shove the memory far away.</p>
<p>Make a new one if you have to.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I thought about it, yeah. But, thing is, I can’t trust ya so how am I gonna know?” Stan crossed his arms. “You’re just gonna tell me he’s dead or you got him locked up somewhere. There’s a lot you could use here and I won’t know better to question it.”</p>
<p>
  <b>“Actually, as interesting as that would be to straight-up lie to you, I can’t say I have him yet!”</b>
</p>
<p>Stan’s gaze narrowed.</p>
<p><b>“No, really! He completely slipped from my grasp, away into the multiverse, haven’t seen him since! Or maybe he’s still trespassing on my turf, who knows!” </b> Bill chimed and leaned forward on his cane. <b>“Though you have the right idea pointing out if I locked away because that was actually what <em>I thought about doing</em> ! Great minds think alike, I suppose. Using Sixer as a bargaining chip would really give me an advantage in all this.”</b></p>
<p>Stan’s fists clenched as he listened on, vigilant and somewhat biting his tongue as Bill compared Ford to something as disposable as a simple bargain to gain his trust. However, though it counteracted what he thought how Bill would approach the situation,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The demon wasn’t lying.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So, let me get this straight,” Stanley tapped a finger against his arm. “After you pushed him into that portal and left, you chased after him to your fantasy land? Universe? whatever. He ended up there and, hey stop me if I don’t have this all-“</p>
<p>
  <b>“Sure thing.”</b>
</p>
<p>“He somehow just… escaped? He got out? Where is he now?” His gaze drifted as a spark of hope churned in him amidst the panic and the despair and he tried to shut it off the best he could because he relayed through the fact that Bill was <em> here </em> now talking with <em> him </em>and not doing whatever to Ford-</p>
<p>Bill cackled and Stanley stood slowly.</p>
<p>
  <b>“You’re in the wrong frame of mind if you think he got outta dodge! You see, I can only be in one place at a time, but I got my connections. Remember what I said to you when I first visited? You’d have all the allies you could ever need with my partnership? Well, now that you’ve so politely declined, they have a new use!”</b>
</p>
<p>Bill hovered close to Stanley’s face until he could see his faltering bravery in Bill’s eye and his gaze hardened as best as it could before the demon continued.</p>
<p><b>“He evaded me first so I </b> <b> <em>sent my hounds on him</em> </b> <b>! It’s only a matter of time before he gets dragged back to me in whatever state he’s in. Could be anything. It's infinite out there! And he has one of the biggest bounties placed on his head. Some lifeforms will risk tooth and nail for someone going for what he is. Which means you only have a couple of options at that point.”</b></p>
<p>Without Bill saying them, Stan had a picture of what those were.</p>
<p>He couldn’t predict first what the hell was out there, beyond his own world, and he cursed himself for not listening to Ford enough to fully wrap his head around it. Stepping back from Bill as much as he could before his legs hit the seat of the chair.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If Ford is caught…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>“When Fordsy's caught, I’ll get to make the choice of keeping him alive. So you got a bit of time! Wouldn’t want you rushing in and making a mistake!”</b>
</p>
<p>He can’t figure it out. He couldn’t even make sense of what information he had on hand. There was barely anything that made sense in what Ford left behind. </p>
<p><b>“Unless well,”</b> Bill’s pupil dilated as he grinned. <b>“You let me work on the portal for a while. I’ll pinpoint IQ's location and bring him back, all safe and sound, from where he-“</b></p>
<p>“Well I can tell ya right here now that ain’t gonna happen, buster.” Stan shot his gaze back up to meet Bill’s and took a step forward. “No dice.”</p>
<p>
  <b>“And let your brother wander around knocking on death’s door for as long as you try and fail to wrap your stupid and weak brain around alien tech? How selfish is that! You don’t even know what you’re getting into!”</b>
</p>
<p>Stanley’s eyebrows furrowed and he bared his teeth. “No, Bill, <em> you </em>don’t know what you’re getting into.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was bluffing.</p>
<p>Something small in him said that Bill knew that too.</p>
<p>So he just had to make himself believe he wasn’t.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You say you’re the master of the mindscape, huh?” Stan snapped his fingers and the carpet, lounges, fireplace, and piano burst into flames, crumbling into heaps of ashes from where they once stood in mere seconds. Stan took another step forward and his eyes <em> burned </em> with <em> hate. </em>His voice echoed that as he willed it to echo in the same respect that Bill’s had only moments before.</p>
<p>Bill’s eye widened as he glanced around where his arrangement had once stood and then was replaced with the hollow reality of Stan’s mindscape. </p>
<p>“You want the code to the basement?! You WANT to activate that portal? Go ahead! You have my body, right? But you need bits and pieces from <em> this place </em> you apparently know so much about!” Stan summoned a memory into existence where he was inputting the code, the <em> wrong </em> code, into the panel. “Does this help you, you fuckin’ demon?!” </p>
<p>Bill’s form quickly gleamed red yet Stan didn’t care as he pressed on, his voice growing louder by the second. </p>
<p>“How about these then, eh?!” Stan smirked as two more doors spawned with yet two other different codes, two other different yet believable lies, as the memory didn’t fade or flicker like the screens that held his name had. They were manipulated to his imagination, as the real one was willed in some corner of the mindscape under construction, which was being shifted and tumbled into his own personal trap. </p>
<p>“C’mon Bill, it’s gotta be one’a these! Jot down some notes!” More appeared around the two of them, encircling them and kicking up the ash in an invisible wind. “Better yet, go take a hike around the rest of the place, it’ll be a fun an’ interesting scavenger hunt. You’re messin’ with the <em> wrong </em> Pines twin, and I’ll make you <em> see </em> that, sooner or later, when I get Ford back myself!”</p>
<p>Suddenly, all the doors surrounding the two <em> slammed </em>shut. </p>
<p>Bill hovered still but he was surprisingly without a word.</p>
<p>Brimming with that familiar angered crimson hue which was once a threat to the conman, but not as much anymore. If Ford was alive, which he was,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ford was <em> alive </em></p>
<p>just for the sake of believing he was</p>
<p>Stan could trust that his twin could hold on just a bit longer</p>
<p>Trust him to do everything he could do to </p>
<p>survive this just for a bit longer.</p>
<p>And maybe</p>
<p>Stan could “bluff” for just a bit longer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Anything to say?” His voice was centered on himself once more rather than being an echo, yet it didn’t feel any less powerful to him as he watched the triangle stare at him with that creepy ass eye.</p>
<p><b>“Okay, okay, I get it! With the time you’ve had, you’ve really got a hang on the mindscape. No need to brag.” </b> Bill gestured with his hands as he hovered, surrounded by the doors brought to the surface by Stanley. <b>“Faster than expected, actually. I never thought you’d pick it up, being, well, you know- </b> <b> <em>you</em> </b> <b>. The brainiac sure didn’t have much of a grasp on his so I could rustle through his memories as I pleased. Despite how much this puts a dent in everything…”</b></p>
<p>Bill crossed his arms and glanced around at all the doors to the false memories that may or may not have been the real thing at this point. </p>
<p><b>“Look at what you’ve done! You’re shaping your own mind just to stall me for a bit! Ded-i-ca-tion at its FINEST, Stanley! Who </b> <b> <em>knows </em> </b> <b>what you’ll forget in the time it takes to turn the portal on! What memories will get turned into lies <em>you’ll</em> end up believing! You know, maybe at the end of this, you won’t even </b> <b> <em>want </em> </b> <b>six-fingers back!”</b></p>
<p>“It won’t ever come to th-“</p>
<p>
  <b>“In fact, it’s kind of risky what you’ve already done just to protect yourself from me! Or rather… from yourself! It’s only been days since IQ took a dive in the deep end of the nightmare realm and look at you! Already coming apart!”</b>
</p>
<p>“Oh come <em> on, </em>Bill. You’d get lucky that way. I have everything under control.”</p>
<p><b>“Sure you do! While you’re awake. Well hey, maybe not even then with our deal in motion!” </b> Bill hovered higher above him and his eye was wide in spite. <b>“How would you like studying the journals without your hands? Or if I replaced every other number in your cognitive comprehension with images of severed arteries and animal skins!?”</b></p>
<p>"Uh-"</p>
<p>
  <b>“You don’t know what I can do with you or to your head! I’m unpredictable on an unimaginable scale! You can’t handle what you’ve signed up for!”</b>
</p>
<p>Stan’s took a sharp breath in and out as his fists clenched. “Try me.”</p>
<p>Bill’s eye narrowed as he looked into the fearless ones of the human standing squarely in front of him, who had just destroyed everything he had created previously and then some. </p>
<p>
  <b>“You’ll have your choice to make eventually. You know what those are. Sixer’s gone for now, but they'll bring him back! I’m promising a whole galaxy at the expense of his capture. Which means you need to step it up and figure it out or soon you’ll. be. out. of. options!”</b>
</p>
<p>The doors around the two vanished, leaving both in a darkened reconstruction of the shack’s basement. Stanley saw Bill in front of him grow to a larger height in the ceiling-less room, the gaze from his unblinking eye cutting into his very soul. Stan’s eyebrows raised as he took a couple of frantic steps back, mouth agape. Bill pointed a giant finger at the center of his chest and Stan nearly stumbled backward as he continued to stare into that single eye.</p>
<p>
  <b>“ALSO! Sure, you know a couple TIPS and TRICKS, but don’t underestimate how long I’ve been here before you! How much more I know than you! I could warp and twist this entire mindscape and you’d be none the wiser when I’m done with it!”</b>
</p>
<p>“While you’re right about me not bein’ all that wise,” Stan spoke quietly at first but then found his ground. “This is my turf, ain’t it? My mind. And I’m done hearing from you.” Stan imagined a tv remote in his hand, casually pressed a button and a mute symbol appeared on Bill’s gigantic triangular form, the demon’s eye widened as his form illuminated <em> as if </em> he spoke but no words came out. </p>
<p>“Here’s a game for ya. It’s one from when I was growin’ up. It’s called the quiet game. I was never good at it much but you could be.”</p>
<p>Realizing what Stanley had just done, Bill glowed red and his pupil blackened. Stan sighed and put his free hand on his hips.</p>
<p>“You're gonna be a lot of work. I'll admit that if it makes you any better. Hopefully you don’t throw too many tantrums in here. I do have a lot of important stuff stashed away… stuff I’m quite fond of. Stuff I haven’t been thinkin’ about for a bit. But, heh,” Stan tossed the tv remote behind him and it poofed away into oblivion. “You won’t be seeing much of it. And good luck with the stuff you <em> will </em>be seeing! Man,” He chuckled. “Wouldn’t want my worst enemy to be seein’ some of that stuff. Which I guess is you now. Huh. Funny how that works.”</p>
<p>Bill raved, glitching into different sizes in front of Stanley and then his large form crumbled into several duplicates of himself but somehow couldn’t erase the mute symbol on him or the copies of him. Stanley in return had to bite down a laugh. “Ya know, it was because of you that I figured this place out after all. If you weren't so cocky, you’d realize that some people can catch on to your little antics.”</p>
<p>Bill, in his many duplicated forms that surrounded Stan from all angles, looked at him in rage.</p>
<p>“Speakin’ of getting Ford back though, thanks for reminding me. I gotta get back up there. Got more secrets to hide, things to figure out, a demon to keep locked away. The works.”</p>
<p>The red from Bill was still persistent.</p>
<p>Bill’s multiple projections glitched together into the one as he hovered a distance away from Stan, normally sized. </p>
<p>And he grinned smugly, causing Stanley to raise an eyebrow in suspicion. He considered unmuting the little bastard to see why Bill’s attitude shifted yet again to the situation, but just one more second of the shrill voice mocking him gave him a headache.</p>
<p>Huh.  A headache in his own mind. Who would have thought <em> that </em> was possible?</p>
<p>He did say he was the “Master of the Mindscape” even if that meant causing the impossible headache where a headache shouldn’t be a thing.</p>
<p>“So yeah,” Stan scowled. “I’m gonna wake up now. Uh… have fun and everything? You know. Exploring. I ain’t got nothin’ to hide from you. Well, I do, just you ain’t gonna find it.”</p>
<p>Bill, of course, said nothing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But his smile was tantalizing even if he didn’t have a mouth to smile with.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Stanley awoke with a start, rustling the papers below him that previously lay beneath his face and sent a book toppling over towards the ground, hearing the hardback cover think against the wooden floorboards. His fingers grazed over the notes that had laid under his head as his heavy and rapid breath appeared in dusted clouds in his vision.</p>
<p>“Ah-! Shit…”</p>
<p>As soon as his eyes opened, they had shut again just as fast, annoyed and bitter at an unexpected and sweltering irritation in the right’s cornea. He had fallen asleep at a desk that was in the room with that god awful shag carpet that really did not tie the room together at all. Grateful he wasn’t in the portal room, Stanley held his forehead in his hands and took deep breaths to stabilize himself in his sudden awakening.</p>
<p>On the desk was a slew of papers, an open book on cryptology, and some office folders found about the cabin’s research areas. There was also a mug of black coffee with a quarter left on the bottom, now cooled and flavorless. It had left a ring on the table from when some of it was spilled out, which was inches away from a diagram on some yellowing graphing paper. Stanley wasn’t sure when the caffeine stopped working, when it couldn’t hold his head up any longer, no matter how many times it was refilled. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Exactly… how many days has it been?</p>
<p>How many days was he successful at staying awake?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Considering most of the windows were still boarded up and the curtains of some nailed closed, daylight was an elusive and unbeknown entity that kept itself on the outside while he labored away.</p>
<p>It took a day at minimum to figure out how to change the lock on the door to the basement, as well as just plain figure out the coding itself, with just a bunch of tech stuff that flew over Stan’s head until he read and re-read the plans for the security in the first journal. Ford was a genius in writing procedures, but when a lot of that was encrypted it could leave a dull man running around like a chicken with its head cut off. When he did figure it out, the code was reset and a plan to guard it was set in motion.</p>
<p>He was absolutely sure that it wouldn’t work, but hey, it was worth a good and solid attempt to stash it away in the mindscape as if it was a memory he actively tried to repress, though he wanted this one to be the top priority in keeping it known by only him. Stan would admit first off that he didn’t know much about the mindscape or whatever laws it was bound by, but based on Bill’s reaction…</p>
<p>It couldn’t have been too hard. It worked, after all.</p>
<p>He could manage this.</p>
<p>So he had wandered around the room, taking note of any prying eyes of the triangle and making sure that the panel was in a blind spot and if not he’d block the panel himself once he entered the code. So far, so good probably.</p>
<p>The other couple days (had it already been days since Ford’s been in there?) were spent going about the shack when he wasn’t downstairs in the shadow of the portal, loading himself up on coffee and beans in a half-baked attempt to keep himself awake and Bill from riding in on any exhaustion.</p>
<p>Most of the lights in the cabin were out, a couple being completely absent of bulbs and if there was a bulb, it was old and dim and flickering. Maneuvering around in the dark was all in the hopes that the red lantern could hold a flame for days at a time. </p>
<p>Maybe it had even been weeks.</p>
<p>No, he couldn’t keep himself awake that long.</p>
<p>Could he?</p>
<p>Fuck, it all depended on what card that demon put down.</p>
<p>What Stanley would have to end up dealing with.</p>
<p>Sleep deprivation was a bitch but... he hadn't begun hallucinating. Maybe that was a plus?</p>
<p>He’d been down and up the stairs, finding more diagrams of the interdimensional instrument and going through a lengthy hand of trial and error with what buttons to push and levers to pull. The whole “running around frantically in a desperate haze and pushing random things” routine wasn’t going to hold up over time, especially in the case there was a self-destruct feature like in those morning cartoons him and his twin would watch when they were kids. Ain’t no roadrunner here this time. </p>
<p>Though Bill sure felt like one.</p>
<p>Almost half as annoying.</p>
<p>Focus.</p>
<p>Anyway.</p>
<p>Stan rested his eyes on his palms before he even got the chance to fully wake up, his right stinging and irritated and a sluggish groan escaped from the back of his throat. Unsure of exactly <em> how much </em> sleep he <em> actually </em>got without interference, exhaustion still was ever-present and pressing. He felt like shit, probably smelled like it too considering the entire time he’s been awake it’s been trying to get the portal on and not taking a shower of any sort. The only thing truly washed and bandaged was the brand on the back of his shoulder, which was now a host to new and painful blistering that ate at all the particles of his skin. Sitting hunched over was impossible but mandatory in this regard.</p>
<p>The real question is if he was actually processing anything.</p>
<p>If everything he looked over</p>
<p>portal graphs, diagrams, coordinates, calculations, math, coding…</p>
<p>Was he getting it all or was it flying right over-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> It’s gonna do what it’s always done.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I’m too stupid to understand this stuff at all- </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Quit it!” Stan shouted and slammed his hands down on the desk.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Ford’s countin’ on ya. So what if you’re stupid and can’t figure this shit out? There’s no other choice! You have to!  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Just look over everything again. Start where you left off and it’ll all come flowin’ back naturally. That’s how the brain works, right? Yeah. That’s exactly how it works. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stanley’s eyes opened groggily and he glanced at the papers that littered the desk while a snarl grazed across his face almost immediately.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You son of a BITCH!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The papers on the desk however,</p>
<p>at least the ones he had studied previous under straining bloodshot eyes and caffeinated finger tapping</p>
<p>were scribbled out in red and black ink, papers were torn and crumbled. An ink well taken from atop a countertop was turned over onto the desk and had blotched the paper below it and Stan’s hands as well.</p>
<p>A heap of insanity laid out below him and inscribed in crimson ink and messy letters was a phrase, sloppily etched into what was once a drawing of the portal with measurements detailed along an x and y axis,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>I’M THE ONLY GUIDE YOU’LL HAVE LEFT. THINK ABOUT PICKING UP THE PACE A BIT.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bill had possessed him again. </p>
<p>He’d come back after all.</p>
<p>And based on his dream (could he even call them those anymore? They felt at first like nightmares and just recently more like a meeting between company rivals) Bill knew that Stanley had locked him out of the basement. His success in that prospect was overshadowed however when the scene was less than favorable to him.</p>
<p>He destroyed all the progress Stan had made the night previous. He had much more stored away in the basement but there was a risk and he was relieved that Bill was up here and not down there but still…</p>
<p>all that progress.</p>
<p>all that work.</p>
<p>Stanley gathered up the inked over notes in his hands, which had streaked ink over his face once he raised his palms to his eyes. He didn’t want to look behind him at the room. Or if Bill wandered around the cabin while in his body.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>God, it was still so <em> wrong </em> to think of <em> him </em>…</p>
<p>walking around like <em> that. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stanley was unconscious for all of it this time. Trapped in his own mind and barricaded in sleep by the demon on the outside. At least he’d picked up some of the things that happened the first time. Or rather the first couple times being that his brother had fought Bill and Stan had dealt with the aftermath of the quarrel between the two.</p>
<p>He didn’t even <em> want </em>to get involved in the first place but here he was, sitting on bruises that had blossomed across his belly and sides… not to mention a fading one that cradled the left side of his face to his nose. Stanford, though never exceeding when their father signed them both up for boxing obviously studied to be able to leave a shiner like that one. </p>
<p>Of course he did.</p>
<p>Nevertheless, Bill’s misuse of his body had led to multiple injuries that just lapped over other ones, left by respective thugs and gangs whom he’s long forgotten of in the favor of more… pressing things.</p>
<p>Guess he could put one more species than just people in the list of those he’s fucked over enough to hate him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Demons now were a thing.</p>
<p>Hooray.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Speaking of, there were a couple of rules he was already figuring out and some he had some kind of picture of before. One, Bill could also venture back and forth from his own sorta dimension…</p>
<p>the one that Ford was thrown into.</p>
<p>Two, from before Ford was damned into the realm past the portal, Stan was semi-aware of the choices the demon made at the wheel, in where he would watch from behind his own eyes and be absolutely powerless in the passenger’s seat. He could try in the future to be fully conscious… though he didn’t know what that would do and didn't know how to accomplish that if Bill were trying to operate under Stan’s watch.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Three…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’d have to resort to some kind of way to restrain himself. Somehow. Just in case Bill took over again…</p>
<p>There was no one to help him here.</p>
<p>Yet he’s still kinda used to that. It’s the whole point of him being who he is.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Could a demon break out of human restraints? handcuffs? Maybe it’d think it was <em> possible </em>but actually doing it while trapped in a human body? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stanley hesitated, shutting his eyes again tightly and furrowing his eyebrows as he crumpled the papers in ever-tightening fists. The right eye was twitching and it felt like it was swollen with a heartbeat that rattled through his skull and the flesh of the corresponding side of his face. To his knowledge, nothing had happened to him while Bill was in control… but who knew until he had access to a mirror of some kind? </p>
<p>He wasn’t using the one in the bathroom. That one already had his heart lurching once. He’d have to clean that up at some point but couldn’t bring himself to yet…</p>
<p>But the ache in his eye was so familiar to the second time Bill possessed him, right before he took a swan dive into the desecrated and foggy atmosphere that was his unique mindscape. It was reminiscent of the demon and occurred when he appeared…</p>
<p>“I’m gonna kill that lil’ fucker.” Stan swore as he got to his feet and slammed the papers down on the desk, brushing the hair out of his eyes. He needed a shower desperately and something to eat but the last can of food ran out last night while he was foraging for anything that could add to the picture of how to turn on that portal.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Part of him knew he <em> had </em> to go into town…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The other part thought he’d be able to get Stanford back by now.</p>
<p>But thank god</p>
<p>Stanford was alive.</p>
<p>His twin was still alive. Hunted down by Bill, but able to breathe at least.</p>
<p>And if he remembered Ford enough from when they were kids (if not too much has changed outside of the whole tortured-evil-scientist dynamic) he had a talent in avoiding trouble. While Stanley bolted towards wreaking havoc where necessary, Ford would distance from bullies and fights, sometimes having no choice <em> but </em> to do so in times of crisis. At least until Stan would come to his nerdier twin’s aid and swing a couple'a punches himself…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was getting sidetracked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Point was</p>
<p>he trusted Ford enough to hang on just until he could get a hold of all this portal nonsense, find a way of dealing with Bill</p>
<p>And…</p>
<p>Getting Ford back so that he could pay the god damn heating bill. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter was longer than expected but I couldn't not write about Stan's mindscape bc that's one of the things I absolutely love about the series. This was going to be combined with the last chapter but I got carried away so that's why I'm uploading both of them back to back! I just love to have these two play off each other as Stanley's influence is growing, but at the same time Bill's undoubtedly catching on. </p>
<p>thanks again to those that are reading and commenting :'D i cant say how much I appreciate those as more goes down in later chapters.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. A Puppet Show with Skulls and Demons</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>There was absolutely no food left in the entire cabin.</p>
<p>But there was by far enough coffee because of course there was,</p>
<p>this was Ford’s place after all.</p>
<p>After some days working on the portal and exploring the house, it felt like he was trespassing</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And then after a week…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It felt like he was walking in a cemetery.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe this was good… going into town… it had to be done eventually…  even if he wasn’t entirely secure with the idea.</p>
<p>Stan trudged through the snow, keeping his hands stuffed in his pockets and shoulders to his neck. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was so <em> tired</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Another (successful) sleepless night had him feeling like the world was caving in on him and his vision swam in several directions at once, leading his brain to pulse and for the fog to thicken in his head. Bill had open control of him and whether or not he’d use it was up to the demon himself so Stanley couldn’t be too cautious when it came to… what he could do. As his boots dragged through the snow, the effort and the weight of just <em> everything </em>made it feel like he was wandering uphill when actually the ground was completely level. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>God, he <em> needed </em> sleep. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His head felt heavy as if his neck was supporting a slowly growing anvil and his throat felt coarse in the dry winter morning, every exhale appearing in front of eyes glazed over with exhaustion and bits and pieces of mourning. His nose was stuffy and he prayed to whatever god was out there that he wasn't getting sick because that was the <em>last</em> thing he needed right now.</p>
<p>Stanley dedicated the night in looking for more information around the cabin as so much of the stuff he gathered up last time had been destroyed even with the few papers he’d saved by taping up torn pages. Stuff that was inked over, however, could unfortunately not be saved and had to be stored away separately. Going out to his car once again in the middle of the night, Stan had brought some of his personal items inside the house (he promised he wouldn’t, Ford should have been back by now but this is only temporary) including a crowbar that did more harm than good in the hands of a criminal in the past. For now, Stan used it to pry the boards off of the windows in the cabin and hopefully stabilize his day-night clock without the grim and paranoid feel interfering with that.</p>
<p>It was work, his shoulder loathed him for it, but maybe he could get some medicine to have the pain dull for a bit. The brand had begun to mercilessly scab over, the blistering somewhat null after the week was over, but the wound was going to take a vicious and unavoidable scar when it completely healed. There was absolutely no way to get rid of it as much as he wanted to but this was going to stick with him for a very long time, a consistent reminder of what he’d done.</p>
<p>To himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>To Ford-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan shut that thought out of his mind as quickly as it appeared. He was trying. <em> God</em>, he was trying. It wouldn’t be long, he could feel it. In any case, he’d transcribe the journal tonight (the instructions are just coded. it will be easy, once everything’s deciphered, it’ll be like following a science lab procedure like in high school) and all of this will be a funny memory when Ford comes home.</p>
<p>
  <em> Even if I get him home… what would he do to me now that I’m the one with a deal with Bill? </em>
</p>
<p>Stan shivered and pressed onward, his gaze hardening in the attempt to think of anything else than the bridging anxiety his sleep deprivation had dragged in with all the other fun little things. This was a mistake, there was a risk leaving the house (which now he understood why Ford had stayed… it was all precaution) but the risk had to be taken eventually. Besides, who else would he turn to? He was alone. And no, he wasn’t asking Bill’s help any time soon.</p>
<p>Making his way past the unpaved forest road and over the bridge that barred Gopher Rd from the rest of Gravity Falls, Stanley made his way into the town, keeping to the sidewalk in the hopes that he’d find a general store of some kind. As he meandered through the small logging town, however…</p>
<p>He’d have to be blind in order to miss some of the stares and side-glances that seemed directed at him from passerby's and onlookers. Being watched from all angles… the hairs on his neck raised in suspicion and his heart began to race dramatically, where he could feel its rhythm not only in his chest but in his neck as well as it closed in the trepidation of what he was going through.</p>
<p>
  <em> C’mon Stan, they’re just people. You know people. This should be the same as any other new town you roll into. Shit- but maybe they recognize a wanted ad or two? I should’a figured that one out.  </em>
</p>
<p>Stanley raised his hood over his head instead and kept his eyes lowered, his hands toying with the lint in his left pocket for a measly distraction. This was different. <em>This</em> <em>town</em> was different. Something was <em>off.</em> Why else would his brother be attracted to this place otherwise? Even the locals were giving off these… strange vibes. There was no other way to explain it.</p>
<p>Otherwise, it was a cute little town. The snow was just melting away from the rooftops of shops and other buildings, leaving the area like a settled snow globe, the grayed skies like dust on a shelf where the knick-knack would accumulate it. There was an arcade that reminded him of the one on Glass Shard Beach when he was younger, which was a little joy to see. A mattress shop that was a bit farther down as well as a museum and library and a couple of shops, bars, and restaurants. When Ford was back and Stan was expelled from the property, he’d take some time to wander around the area maybe. It was decent enough… there was even a motel he could stay at for the time being just a few blocks down from a truck stop. “Twin Bed Motel.”</p>
<p>Twin.</p>
<p>Shit.</p>
<p>
  <em> Ford. I’m so sorry. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Later. The apology comes later. You have plenty of time to write one. Hell, you HAD plenty of time to write one over the course of over ten years. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Just… </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Find a store. </em>
</p>
<p>Stanley peered around and locked eyes with a little convenience store. The neon sign was deactivated in the light of the morning but nevertheless, the words “Dusk 2 Dawn” guided him in bolded letters near the edge of town by a residential area. Probably the first people who didn’t spare him a glance were a couple of kids that paraded around a boombox that was tuned to some techno-pop song Stanley hadn’t really put much thought into caring about. Though, he had heard it on the radio and begrudgingly turned it off a couple of times. Feeling just slightly relieved in being unnoticed, he ambled into the store and heard the light chime of a bell overhead by the door. He somewhat stiffened when the bell sounded and an older woman from behind the register made eye contact with him and smiled at him in one of those warm and genuine welcoming smiles.</p>
<p>
  <em> Fucking perfect. </em>
</p>
<p>Stan averted his eyes and felt his hands slide deeper into the pockets of his burgundy jacket as his mind raced.</p>
<p>
  <em> I got to have some money. C’mon… Not today. Not right now. Not in this town. Wouldn’t make much of a good impression. </em>
</p>
<p>The pit in his stomach was expanding the longer he lingered there, so closing his eyes tight, Stanley forced himself to turn his gaze from all the other food items perched on the shelves and instead snagged a loaf of bread which his mind correlated to being the cheapest option. </p>
<p>What he wouldn’t do for like</p>
<p>A burger at this point. As greasy as possible with everything on it and a coke. When was the last time he had an overpriced chocolate milkshake with some beer-battered fries to dip them into it? Or maybe an omelet? With sausage on the side-</p>
<p>His stomach yearned for everything on his imaginary menu and was causing him actual physical pain the longer he daydreamed.</p>
<p>
  <em> Oh my god. Stop. You're starving. I get it. </em>
</p>
<p>Snapping out of his self-induced masochism, Stanley walked over to the counter and begrudgingly slid the bread right over where the older woman (with that horrible homely smile still on her face) spoke to him gently.</p>
<p>“Just the bread there, stranger? That’ll be ninety-nine cents.”</p>
<p>Stan reached into his pocket and pulled out a fistful of whatever… certainly wasn't money. Nothin’ but a sugar packet, un peso from his trips down south, a paperclip, and whatever lint would catch onto his palms that had begun to sweat. So his other hand rummaged through his jeans and the other pocket and goddammit there wasn’t anything besides a spare hand-warmer and his keys and he could feel his expression crumple and lead to a stab in his pride. But, hey, maybe booking it wouldn’t be such a rash idea after all-</p>
<p>“Hey, that’s no stranger!” A woman’s (not the cashier, to his dismay) voice rang out from off his side. “That must be that mysterious science guy that lives in the woods!”</p>
<p>Stanley glanced at her momentarily until he realized she was <em> pointing at him </em> and quickly he turned away as his blood ran cold.</p>
<p>Of course. Of <em> fucking </em>course. Being a twin sometimes was so god damn excruciating. Now he’d have to give his mantra that he used to give in high school because just going along with him being mistaken for Ford, especially when he got in trouble, could damage his brother’s reputation and he didn’t need the lecture from Pa.</p>
<p>She knew Ford. Whoever it was (he didn’t <em> dare </em>look up again and instead receded into his hoodie as if his stance couldn’t look more suspicious) he wouldn’t look up. Wouldn’t meet her face. </p>
<p>Until other people caught onto her outburst and suddenly there were <em>eyes on him</em>. People were looking at him and his heartbeat that was ever so prominent before had all but stopped, leaving him with iced-over veins that had him cold and breathless and <em> panicking. </em></p>
<p>
  <em> Shit, say something! </em>
</p>
<p>The residents encircled him, vultures on his crippling security, and closing off his exit if he were to break for the door. They <em> all </em> knew Ford. Or… <em> of </em> Ford. Mysterious was… new. Certainly, it was something his brother would pick out for <em> himself </em>rather than a whole town of people (or at least the convenience store equivalent). He could only imagine the look on his twin’s smug egotistical face as the nerd in him would basically explode by being referred to as “mysterious.” </p>
<p>He knew his brother was isolated but then again for the entire seven years he’s been here? <em> That </em> was unlikely. He knew he should have thought twice about coming here-! Maybe with sunglasses next time or a facial scar? What name hasn’t he tried? Well, now it doesn’t matter because this was the worst it could have gotten.</p>
<p>For Stanley, this was something that was more nerve-racking than anything he could have prepared for.</p>
<p>“No, wait- you’ve got the wrong guy.” Stan barked back, tightening the strap on his hoodie around his head to try and distance from the townspeople that surrounded him, trying to get a look of his face as the store filled with chatter. He was in a spotlight as he could briefly discern other’s features beyond his hoodie and focused primarily on voices. They felt muddled together but distinct all the same.</p>
<p>“I’ve heard strange stories about that old shack”</p>
<p>“Yeah, mysterious lights and spooky experiments”</p>
<p>“I’d pay anything to see what kind of shenanigans you get up to in there.”</p>
<p>That woman who called him out drew in closer (she had little cat earrings on, which gave him at least a small shred of friendliness) “Me too! Do you ever give tours?” she asked.</p>
<p>Wait.</p>
<p>Tours?</p>
<p>No, but…</p>
<p>Stanley glanced down to his growing collection of trash in the palm of his hand and how it mocked both him and his empty stomach in the shadow of the bread on the counter. The crowd he accumulated stared at him in anticipation. Obviously he’s been some sorta talk around these parts, but in hindsight, Stanley should have connected some dots before ever showing up. A little logging town, paying an insignificant spot on a United States map, receiving a reclusive visitor from a pristine scientific background who is destined to unearth something extraordinary from right down the road? </p>
<p>
  <em> Dear god, Sixer, didja know you’d be famous around here if you’d just shown your face? </em>
</p>
<p>They were curious as all hell.</p>
<p>
  <em> Just in case I don’t get back right away…   </em>
</p>
<p>Stanley clenched the discarded items in his palm and stuffed it in his jacket pocket, whipping around towards the small group of townspeople, his hood sliding off his head in the act to openly reveal his determined expression as confidence replaced anxiety as the snap of a finger. He gestured proudly as he spoke, donning again, the salesman that had been abandoned so long ago. A glimmer of showmanship may bring some hope with it at least...</p>
<p>“I do give tours! Ten- no, no. Fifteen bucks a person!”</p>
<p>The people around him were elated, excited even, fishing out money from pockets and wallets, holding it in their grips as they shouted and talked amongst themselves. Stanley’s facade shattered slightly at the sight of the cold hard cash in the hands of others, soon to be lining his pockets if this all came to be a success. </p>
<p>
  <em> Holy Moses! Poindexter, how did you not see how crazy of a conspiracy you were in this town? </em>
</p>
<p>The woman strode up to his side, holding the strap of her purse in her hand as she gazed at him with eager eyes as if she’d just come across an anomaly for the ages. Her cheerful tone could be heard over the crowd as he locked eyes with her. “So what’s your name you man of mystery?”</p>
<p>They didn’t even know his name. </p>
<p>This was just getting easier and easier.</p>
<p>The scientist that came to their town years ago was as nameless as <em>he</em> was in that current moment. Was forever nameless.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> What’s my name? </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> It can be anything. Make anything up. Recycle one, maybe? </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> No. It’s…  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> What’s my name? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh it’s Stan-... Ford.” He paused and felt his heart drop, descending all the way down to his empty stomach in the realization of what he’s just said.</p>
<p>what he's just done.</p>
<p>Time to hammer the nail on the coffin. He declared it again, in a gruffer and more decisive tone than he had before in his uncertainty. At this rate, Stanley could no longer exist.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stanford Pines.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b> <em>STANFORD PINES.</em> </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He felt his vision blur around him when the voice rattled in the back of his head as if it emerged from right between his ears and the core of his brain, drumming against both temples. His eyes widened and he raised his hands from his pockets. Faces became unrecognizable and the humans' voices contorted together.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b> <em>STANFORD. THAT'S RICH!</em> </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan<strike>ford</strike>’s breathing accelerated as he took a couple of steps back from the crowd and his vision glossed over as if he was looking through a sheet of plastic at the patrons that were engrossed in him only just earlier. He blinked repeatedly, silently hoping his world would stabilize as his brain felt like it was melting. </p>
<p>Just then, his sight begun to clear, to his immediate yet temporary relief until he was driven into fear.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>the crowd around him </p>
<p>looked at him</p>
<p>Each human had the same</p>
<p>golden glowing eyes</p>
<p>with slit pupils.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan’s nerves seized as he sputtered out something from his mouth (he was unsure what it even was or if it even was words). Making eye contact with the lady by him, he heard in that same shrill voice of the demon mismatched with a tender tone of the stranger as she spoke. “Mr. Pines?”</p>
<p>“Yup! That’s me-!” Stan backed away from the small population he gathered, their yellowing eyes unblinking in a grim and sullen picture. He forced a cheery tone as best he possibly could, “Tours today open up by-“ He quickly glanced around the store for the time, as he realized, he hadn’t really seen what time it was this morning. An analog clock hung at the back wall behind the friendly cashier and her husband. It was nearly eleven in the morning. “Noon! Come see the mysterious wonders of my, uh, experiments based right here in this town unfold right before your very eyes- for a modest price of course! Located right at the end of Gopher Road. Can’t miss it!”</p>
<p>To this, the small crowd seemed like their usual anticipated selves again and chatted behind him amongst each other yet Stan wasn’t around to hear most of it as he was already out the door.</p>
<p>He tried to keep a level head as the sight of those eyes was still there even when he blinked. Something was clutched in the sweaty palm of his hand.</p>
<p>With old habits certainly dying hard, the thin plastic bag of the bread was firm in his grip, swinging with every large step he took back down the sidewalk.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan rushed up the front deck, step by step until he was inside and <em> slammed </em> the door behind him, leaning against it and bunching up his hair as he tossed the bread behind a desk by the staircase.</p>
<p>“Hey, answer me this if you would- what the hell <em> was </em> that?!” he screamed into the room, accepting the vacancy like a forcefully swallowed pill. “That was you, wasn't it?! Who else could it be?!” Stan practically lunged off the door and paced in the room, flinching when he accidentally kicked a glass bottle and sent it rolling across the floorboards. </p>
<p>He was met with radio silence at first. </p>
<p>“Well? You got my attention, triangle! Where are ya?! Say somethin’!”</p>
<p>
  <b> <em>That was one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen!</em> </b>
</p>
<p>“Oh you <em> would </em> find it funny, wouldn’t ya?” Stan snapped and held his head. “Since <em> when </em> could you talk to me like that?”</p>
<p>
  <b> <em>Wow, what even IS a name to you humans?! It’s so important but then it’s not! You know, most organisms out there don’t care for names and here you are juggling yours at every point in your life! </em> </b>
</p>
<p>It was unsurprising he wouldn’t answer him, why would he?</p>
<p>
  <b> <em>After that stunt you pulled, I wanna see where you’re going to take this! Having a bunch of strangers parading around your brother’s house. Doesn’t seem like such a smart move when you’re hiding me and a portal to, you know, HELL.</em> </b>
</p>
<p>“I’ve been keeping it from you good enough so far, right? Beatin’ you at your own game here and in your own little mirror world. Surely I can handle a bunch of lawless hicks.”</p>
<p>
  <b> <em>Watch it, buddy. You talk big for someone who just took a soon-to-be-dead-man's identity!</em> </b>
</p>
<p>Stan grit his teeth and his nostrils flared as he gestured with his arms open wide. “He’s not gonna be dead! I gotta do something! This is only temporary-“</p>
<p>
  <b> <em>Oh, surrrrrre it’s temporary! Really says a lot about you! You practically murder a guy and take on his entire life! Maybe the portal IS easy enough for you to figure out, I mean, it sure is for me! I could guide you through the entire process right now and you wouldn’t have to do this! Maybe you’re just postponing it and subconsciously not following through so you can take over six-finger’s name because you don’t want to go back living in your c-</em> </b>
</p>
<p>“Okay! That’s it!” Stan yelled. He was raving, startled, and<em> enraged. </em>“Talkin’ like that in my head, huh? Is it cuz you’re scared of what I did to ya the last time? You know I can’t do anything out here, you coward!”</p>
<p>
  <b> <em>Oh! So you WANT to talk face-to-face? Sure, yeah! It’s all good with me! Let’s TALK.</em> </b>
</p>
<p>Out of nowhere, the room was swept in that familiar greyscale and Stan’s eyes widened as his nerves tensed up. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Oh no.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bill was hovering a ways away from him and <em> smiling </em> that horrible and <em> knowing </em> grin. </p>
<p>
  <b>“Who’s the real coward here? Let’s be reasonable! Normally people don’t run from their whole past and everything. In your case, though, it surprisingly helps!”</b>
</p>
<p>“Since when could you talk in my head-“</p>
<p><b>“Oh c’mon!” </b> Bill put his hands on his sides and hovered right above Stan, looking down at him. <b>“You’re not really him, so don’t start acting like him! You don’t need to know the reason for everything I do. You’re on your own, here!”</b></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I need to wake up! </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>“I have to say, the touring idea was </b> <b> <em>very </em> </b> <b>intriguing! It’s just like you and yet nothing like you! Depending on who you are now. At first, I was opposed to it, I don’t need anybody coming in and damaging my machine. I still don’t like it but it’s not like I can’t do anything about it. In fact, come to think of it, I could have some FUN with this!”</b></p>
<p>Stan could see potential wheels turn behind the demon’s eye and backed up, keeping his suspicious eyes locked on Bill. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p><b>“All the chaos this cabin has in it! Science, dangerous and destructive equipment-!” </b> Bill started laughing uncontrollably and pressed himself to speak through them. <b>“It needs the proper tour guide!”</b></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Shit. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No way in hell!” Stan exclaimed, holding his fists up in defense. “Not a chance you’re taking over right now!”</p>
<p>
  <em> C’mon, you piece of shit! WAKE UP! </em>
</p>
<p>This was his only chance to keep things at bay while Ford was still out there. The only chance to help him while he’s away and Bill was about to throw a wrench in it.</p>
<p><b>“That’s where you’re wrong! There is a chance and, uh, you </b> <b> <em>LOST YOURS</em> </b> <b>! Not like you really have a choice in the matter, it was </b> <b> <em>your </em> </b> <b>deal after all. Hey, tell you what, I’ll buy you a box seat to the show, how's that?!” </b></p>
<p>“What?! No!” Stan backed up again frantically as Bill flew at him</p>
<p>And his whole world contorted.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And he lost gravity.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan’s eyes were shut tight, eyes covering them exclusively on his petrified face. The fear and dread that was slowly crippling in spread throughout his mind and</p>
<p>body?</p>
<p>This…</p>
<p>Uh,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Where was the floor?</p>
<p>Kicking slightly at the ground, nothing brushed against his boot, no sound of the wood grain of the cabin or even his mindscape. He forced his hands away from his eyes hesitantly</p>
<p>and opened them.</p>
<p>To find the floor approximately three feet away. He was weightless and exposing this dim bluish glow, where, when he glanced down at himself saw the objects of the cabin <em> right through his clothes. </em> He didn’t feel skin or fabric, or anything on his body. There was nothing to feel or sense as he patted himself down with his hands. </p>
<p>Stan’s voice sounded distant and centered all at the same time and he was startled to hear himself even <em> talk. </em>“What the hell did you do to me?! What is this?! Where are you now, Bi-“</p>
<p>Suddenly, Stan’s gaze locked on a ragged, exhausted, mullet-haired man lying slumped against the back wall of the cabin, one knee propped up and chin to his chest. </p>
<p>
  <em> That’s me. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> What? </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> How did I... </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Am I… </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Am I really that fat? </em>
</p>
<p>The body’s head then</p>
<p>slowly and sluggishly</p>
<p>lifted up and its face</p>
<p>was pulled into a freakish and demented grin, the eyes as yellow as the demon’s glowing triangular form and pupils dilated in an unrestrained glee.</p>
<p>“Holy Moses...”</p>
<p><b>“Hey there, Stan-o! How’s the weather up there?” </b> The body pushed itself off the floor and lugged itself upward into a standing position, arms hanging limply at its sides as if it were a marionette. Its eyes blinked one at a time with an agonizingly uncomfortable rapidness and Stan could feel himself cringing from the sight alone. Bill’s annoyingly high voice was bad enough coming from the throat that should belong to <em> him </em> and him <em> alone, </em>but that face was unnatural and shouldn’t be something he’d have to look at today.</p>
<p>It’s something that Ford had looked at right before he disappeared.</p>
<p>And suddenly his brother’s fear of the demon and the sense of betrayal he must have felt made sense.</p>
<p>But this was absolutely not the time to dwell on that when basically a chaos god was in his <em> skin. right. now. </em></p>
<p>Bill took a couple steps forward around the shack, gaze shifting around menacingly. <b>“Man, you really drive this baby hard! It’s so much more difficult to control now than last time! I mean, really! Look! Your reflexes are all off!” </b> Bill took his arm and <em> rammed </em> it against the edge of a desk where a tank was perched on top that held a shallow amount of water and a couple planted organisms and creature skulls inside. The glass itself didn’t break but Stan winced as the arm’s skin became dotted with what was no doubt going to be a decent bruise in a day. </p>
<p>“You really <em> had </em> to do that?”</p>
<p><b>“Yes, I did!”</b> Bill chimed, his right eye twitching.</p>
<p>“And the point was?”</p>
<p>
  <b>“Your skin-bag’s pain is laughable! Your nerves just act on their own, we don’t get entertainment like that back home! Except this one’s tolerance is a bit too high. Unlike my last puppet! You wouldn’t believe all the things I did with-“</b>
</p>
<p>“Yeah, I’m sure.” Stan cut him off and he repressed a scowl that was sure to form. “Great. You’ve had your fun, now get out.”</p>
<p><b>“Maybe later. You’re having visitors sometime soon and I have an opportunity to get my name in the door!” </b>Bill stumbled past him and into the shack, into the room with the door to the basement.</p>
<p>“Oh no, you don’t!” Stan floated in mid-air and tried to run towards him, his feet just flailing about. “The hell? How do I... uh-?” He huffed and was motionless for a bit before he just waved his arms and hovered in the direction of his body, brows knitting together as he got the hang of how to control himself in this state. “There. Not as bad as I thought.” Flying into the same room, he saw Bill was crouched and rummaging through a series of crates stashed near the window. </p>
<p><b>“Sixer’s got some neat things in here! You might as well take a look. Might make some interesting </b> <b> <em>attractions!</em> </b> <b>”</b></p>
<p>“Get outta there!” Stan floated towards the crate and tried picking up the lid, his fingers passing through as he scoffed. “I shoulda guessed…”</p>
<p><b>“Hahaha, yup! Now you know what I go through! Right now, you can’t do anything. You’re basically a ghost until you inhabit a body. Too bad the one you want is occupied until further notice. Hey, go around and prank some teenagers or something. It might make you feel better!” </b> Bill’s head snapped up. <b>“Or you could stick around! There’s a crowd of people approaching this place right now! They have no idea what they’re up against!”</b></p>
<p>Stan’s face paled (or maybe had become more transparent seeing as that’s exactly what he was right now?) as the demon got shakily to his feet and stood straight, eyes blinking in a stretched reptilian fashion. He strode to the door, opening it to the crowd that had gathered in the convenience store with familiar faces like that woman with the cat earrings, the trainee, a larger man in the back, and then some. </p>
<p>He had to stop Bill from whatever he was about to do before it was too late-</p>
<p>
  <b>“Welcome one and all, humans! Prepare for an experience unlike no other as you try and fail to wrap your feeble minds around the horrors of what’s inside this shelter of sorts!”</b>
</p>
<p>Too late.</p>
<p>He set his face in his palm and groaned, where unsurprisingly, no one could hear him. Bill’s impersonation of his own voice was flawless, without a crack or line that would give away he wasn’t the man of mystery himself.</p>
<p>Ok, no doubt these people have seen horror movies, right? If the killer spoke to them like that, they’d obviously turn the other way before the inevitable. Not to mention if they saw the demon’s golden eyes they would run for the hills-</p>
<p>The crowd gave a series of “ooo’s” and talked amongst themselves gleefully and curiously. Because of course they did. Stan had to think of something, but when Bill stepped aside from the open door as the crowd clambered in, a large man passed right through his ghost-like form. He felt absolutely powerless, dumb to any train of thought, and any scheme he could work on as the residents just walked right into his trap.</p>
<p>It was even his fault, he could have endangered these people for their money.</p>
<p>Wouldn’t be the first time he did that</p>
<p>but this time he was Stanford. </p>
<p><b>“Behold everything I’ve been working on from right under your unobservant noses for all this time!” </b> Bill dug into one of the crates by the window and pulled out a sort of animal skull which was… unclear what kind of animal it was (A fish with six eye sockets? Or was it some kind of variation of mammal?) <b>“This thing was mortal just like the rest of you flesh-bags! Just another reminder, for when you get the chance, to sign up for immortality!”</b></p>
<p>“What exactly is that thing?” A man in the crowd asked.</p>
<p>
  <b>“Hey, it might as well be your doppelgänger in forty-eight years, pal! Give or take! Until then, I'd stay away from open ledges if I was in your shoes!” </b>
</p>
<p>The crowd was less enthusiastic now and Stan grit his teeth. What did ghosts do in movies? Maybe he could jostle around a door and scare them off? Maybe take their money out of their pockets if he could get a grip on them? He needed this, and yet here was Bill absolutely messing things up.</p>
<p><b>“How about this little contraption?” </b> Bill chimed in Stan’s rumble of a voice as he held up a small metal box with antennae at the end. <b>“It’s something that increases the chances of permanently damaging at least one out of the many things on your face!”</b></p>
<p>The woman with the cat earrings leaned in close against her better judgment (Stan wondered if she even <em> had </em> better judgment- these people were too trusting or they were too fascinated) when Bill set it on an unopened crate and, sure enough, a bright blue spark jolted out from it, her left eye twitching shut. “My eye!” Stan heard her cry out before she backed away from Bill and the device.</p>
<p>
  <em> Oh great.  </em>
</p>
<p>To this, Bill glanced at Stan hovering mid-air with a smug victorious sneer (he reminded himself <em> never </em>to smile like that) and laughed, while the crowd reacted negatively, murmuring comments to each other at the sight of the woman’s now closed eye.</p>
<p>“You’re charging fifteen dollars for <em> this?! </em>” She eventually yelled at him, and Stan could see her fists clenched at her sides in hostility.</p>
<p>The rest of them agreed, a chorus of “yeah!” was shared by various voices, along with comments of “nothings worth that cheat” and “I don’t know what I expected.”</p>
<p>Stan huffed in frustration and hovered backward away from the crowd and Bill’s mocking laugh set in his fooling voice. He fucked up by wanting to talk in the first place to that stupid triangle but he didn’t expect <em> this </em> . He glanced around the room and beside the doorway, there was a mock skeleton that was suspended a short distance away from Bill on a display. Rolling his eyes to himself and picturing how <em> stupid </em>this would be, he couldn’t help but not just humor himself. </p>
<p>Without even thinking, Stan slipped his pointer and middle finger into the back of the skull through to its eye sockets, his ghost-like hand passing through the hard plastic. His thumb then pressed against the lower jaw as if it were a hand puppet.</p>
<p>“Get a load of this guy right here!” Stan exclaimed as he moved the skeleton’s jaw as he spoke, its teeth clacking with every word.</p>
<p>And the crowd grew quiet, a couple of people taking notice to him nearly immediately. Bill as well, who’s giddiness was cut short in stunned silence. A kid, near the center of the crowd and wearing a baseball cap piped up as he pointed. “Is it just me, or did that skeleton just talk?”</p>
<p>
  <em> So they can’t see me </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> But they can hear me!</em>
</p>
<p>This was by far the coolest thing he’s ever done in his life and he wasn’t about to drop it here.</p>
<p>“You folks are lucky you weren’t a part of his <em> last </em>tour group!” Stan smiled nervously as he motioned the mouth of the skeleton. “I’d rather be dead than live through that again! Oh wait. I am!” </p>
<p>If he had a heart at that certain moment, it would have lifted in relief to hear the responsive laughter that bounced off the walls from the patrons in the shack. The lady with the cat earrings laughed too, despite her eye still being closed as she smiled at Bill. “How are you doing that?” </p>
<p>Bill instead, with wide and angered eyes, grabbed the display stand and yanked it towards him. <b>“Okay that’s enough of that-!” </b></p>
<p>Stan hovered with the prop, keeping a stern hold on it, and continued moving the skull. “It’s okay Mr. Mystery! You don’t need <em> tibia </em>killjoy!”</p>
<p>There was more laughter from the people around both of them and Bill growled, grabbing the skull and clamping its jaw closed. Stan pulled the display away from the demon in his body, amazingly able to keep a hold on it as long as he was using it to puppet. The crowd gasped as the prop was able to “move on its own” as was one of the comments in the commotion.</p>
<p>Stan was beaming. “Whoa, hey! hey! Take it easy! This is top tier content! It takes a lotta <em> skull </em> to control a prop like this! Ya have to put a lot of <em> soul </em>into it!” After each pun, Stan clacked the teeth together for good measure, and it felt good to not have to laugh at his own jokes as those around him were already doing it for him.</p>
<p>Bill’s facade faltered, his true voice trickling through his impression of Stan only slightly. <b>“How do you always keep outsmarting me?!” </b>He yelled as he snatched the display stand, yet he glared at Stan, who was still suspended mid-air, right hand clipped through the prop in front of him.</p>
<p>The demon had a point… how <em> did </em>he keep outsmarting him?</p>
<p>After everything Bill’s tried, he’d just broken through barricade after barricade with flying colors. But hey, even if he wasn’t good at anything else, being physics, astrology, interdimensional comprehension…</p>
<p>At least he can be a pain in the ass for a while.</p>
<p>“I don’t know! You tell me, smart guy.” Stan flashed all his teeth at the demon in a chaotic grin as he talked with the skeleton. “You’re supposed to have more <em> brains </em> than I do!” </p>
<p>Bill’s eyebrows furrowed together as he grit his teeth to the cacophony of amusement beside him. He let go of the display stand and glared through the mess of fringe up at Stan and now, in his familiar and annoying tone of voice, growled. <b>“This isn’t over-!”</b></p>
<p>Bill’s eyes fluttered closed and Stan’s expression dropped as he saw Bill’s form pull out of the body, his body, and float above it. They made eye contact briefly before Stan watched his own soulless vessel topple forward and <em> dove </em>toward it before it hit the ground-!</p>
<p>Before he took over again, eyes shut tight,</p>
<p>catching his footing before losing it and he hit the ground. </p>
<p>The townspeople were silent in awe before Stan stood, hands outstretched, and grabbed the prop- the actual <em> physical </em> prop in his hands (which had <em> skin! </em> god how he’s missed those even if it’s only been a few minutes!) </p>
<p>Nervously, he redirected his gaze at those people who he had seen in the convenience store and <em> hoped </em> maybe <em> that </em>made up for accidentally getting possessed right before all this…</p>
<p>“Ta-Da…!!” He exclaimed, attempting his best set of jazz hands with the skeleton in his right, its plastic bones clinking together. “Right?”</p>
<p>To his surprise, everyone in front of him started clapping. A strange short man in the back even said “That was weird! I loved it!” To which a few others replied in agreement. Stan chuckled and tossed the prop back over his shoulder, his right eye twitching as it always had whenever he got back his ground. “Well, there’s more than where that came from folks! Now if you’ll follow me, let’s see what other mysteries this place brings besides the occasional haaaaunting-!”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>When the last of the shack’s customer’s left, Stan closed the door to the entryway. The rest of the tour was as much a success as it could have been, and his pockets were full.</p>
<p>Actually full. They paid for whatever the hell <em> that </em> was. They actually paid for that chaos- willingly!</p>
<p>A hopeful smile brimmed across his face as he sent a silent fist-pump in the air. In all honesty, he couldn't believe that worked <em> at all </em>. The odds were against him, how did he even manage all that?</p>
<p>
  <em> Beats me. But, shit, if it didn’t WORK! </em>
</p>
<p>Stan stretched out and looked across the shack’s interior, cluttered and filthy from the way his twin left it. His hands lowered to rest on his hips as he puffed out his chest. The patrons seemed to enjoy the tour they got, where Stan led them around other oddities that littered the shack varying in multiple ways. </p>
<p>Whether they were inanimate, alive, dead or dead(?), the community he gathered took interest in all of it. Most importantly, however, they took interest in <em> him. In fact </em> , before she left, the woman with the cat earrings introduced herself as “Susan” and invited him to drop by the local diner (he noted it was Greasy’s) where she was a waitress. Waving her fingers and winking (or blinking, oh shoot, Bill really messed that one up) at him, she left, and for once in the longest time, his heart swelled at the thought of people <em> welcoming </em> him somewhere <em> personally </em>. Even if he wasn’t himself at the moment, he still grinned sheepishly. </p>
<p>
  <em> Even after all you’ve been through, you can still lay on the charm. I'd be worried if ya couldn't. </em>
</p>
<p>Other than that, the people all wore fascinated and satisfied expressions once they exited the cabin. Who could blame them, after all? They’ve finally uncovered the identity of the anomaly of Gravity Falls. The man of mystery. Finally showing his face after so long in hiding.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stanford Pines.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Who wasn’t here.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was a way to go in bringing him back, especially if the portal was going to be as much as a challenge as it was before this charade. He didn’t even know how many journals there were except that Ford hid them around the area and perhaps the town itself. </p>
<p>The wisest thing to do now was to figure out the surveillance gizmos and footage down in the basement before he strapped down in venturing for those journals, just in case anybody had any funny ideas of getting too close to the shack while he wasn’t around. That, and to monitor a certain unwanted somebody. Who says he can’t have eyes around here too? Also, hey, he’s had his share of dealing with surveillance equipment in his past so what's the worst that could happen?</p>
<p>
  <em> Bill’s the worst that could happen. </em>
</p>
<p>Well, luckily the demon was getting easier to deal with, after all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan locked the front door and glanced around before moving his body in front of the panel to the basement, typing in a code that Bill would never use himself, and began to walk down the stairs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As he blinked back a stinging liquid that had begun to pool in his right eye.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"They never made it out aliiiiiiive! Haha, right?"<br/>Spookiness ensues!<br/>Also, more lighthearted bc as much as Bill is an ass, we love to hate him as well as his crazy antics<br/>As much as I want ol fordsy back, i still wanted to go the mystery shack route just bc ;v;<br/>Bill would make a terrible Mr. Mystery<br/>Also, more steps in Bill's abilities! Sure, he has some major limitations but it'll be fun to toy around with for a bit as he continues to be a lil shit lol</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Secrets that have just minorly been broken into</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Stanford Pines” had been down in the basement all night until he could barely hold his head up. Sleep was absolutely crucial and he hadn’t voluntarily accepted its invitation ever since before Stanford had been sucked into the vacuum of space. So, in the middle of the night, he took the elevator up to the first floor, bypassing the second level with its taunting red door with gold accents. Later, the temptation would ward him to it, but when thinking about how to get in, Stan came up with an idea on how to solve at least one of his problems for the time being.</p>
<p>In short, it was successful.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Demons can’t pick handcuffs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Honestly, he was irritated to say that was the most surprising thing that happened in the time since he’s taken over the cabin.</p>
<p>Bill was horrendous at controlling a body, at least when it required a certain amount of patience and focus for a certain task.</p>
<p>The universe just gave about a smidge of a damn about him to award him some high ground. Now, it would be better if he could have found some information that could benefit him directly on how to power on the portal. Maybe, if the trend of the universe caring carried on, the portal could turn on spontaneously and on the sleeping computers downstairs there would pop up a selection screen with icons of his brother and Bill. This would determine who could get out of the nightmare dimension and who would be a sore loser and stay behind. Unfortunately, this was note the case nor would it ever be.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But hey, at least demons can’t pick handcuffs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Through his multiple times in prison, Stanford (he decided to meet in the middle. It was just Stan) couldn’t help but bust out when needed. The first time his prison break in Jacksonville succeeded, he fled with two inmates who eventually left him for the law weeks later in a failed heist. They hadn’t wanted to split the end grab, with the glass eyes of reaped souls being just underwhelming when split three ways with the amount they went for. Stan was pissed, sure, but it was understandable the route they took, and maybe he’d do the same in an increasingly desperate situation like that. Anyway, apprehended but then left unattended by a rookie tentacle-headed cop, Stan walked/ran/crawled nearly fifty miles just to get back to his car with his wrists bound in front of him. The first couple hours was just putting enough of a distance to warrant him the title of “escapee” while the rest was a journey of failed hitchhiking, sore feet, and a bunch of filled time whistling and trudging along deserted roads while spinning a pair of unlocked police-grade handcuffs over one finger.</p>
<p>You could say he was rather good at the craft.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But <em> Bill </em> couldn’t pick handcuffs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And if Stan was betting on Bill actually succeeding, he’d be in the losing bin. But no, the first night he had the idea and shrugged with the notion it was worth a shot had him waking up the next morning with his wrist struck with red and yellow and purple bruises. The skin was rubbed raw with metal scuffs from the cuffs and it ached. When Stan woke up to the agony and the pain but, also, waking up bound with his papers untouched yards away from his reach, he nearly cried with relief that something had worked. Things were getting a little bit easier in this tussle. The upper hand was his once again in the tango from hell.</p>
<p>A makeshift key was what he needed to get out, and when he did, he rubbed his sore wrist and shut his eyes. Yeah, he had found a way to keep his body at bay while also getting some rest, but there was still a lot of work to do to get some levity from the morning after. Stan rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm to find that the pain in his right had skyrocketed enough for it to water.</p>
<p>But when removing his hand, he saw it was drenched in crimson.</p>
<p>There was no injury, or not that Stan could really pinpoint, but after sitting upward on the couch for probably a good ten minutes staring blankly at his hand basically slathered with blood, then did he look for a cause. Every time Bill took some kind of control over the course of time they’ve been hooked, his right eye would always light up in a mix of bubbling pressure and a sharp sting. Nothing he hasn’t gotten used to over a tough decade alone, but now it was a reason for concern if it was actively bleeding. If this was some kinda bogus unfair side-effect to Bill taking over (because how else could a demonic possession go wrong besides the obvious) he couldn’t bother with it right now along with his other prominent injury on his back and trying every night to get that portal started.</p>
<p>Now was the time to get some extra information. Hopefully about his unwanted buddy watching his every move.</p>
<p>There was nowhere else in the shack he hadn’t looted for answers. Top to bottom he searched and piled on the books and the notes and it’s safe to say that this place had more secret compartments and hidden rooms than what he was typically used to in a standard house, but that was it. Maybe he was too stupid and the answers were hiding in plain sight, but if there was an easier way to come to a solution, he would find that first before tearing a whole new one into “plain sight.” So, yeah. Everywhere else in the shack dealt with oddities, curiosities, and little diagrams for various sci-fi shit that weren’t portals. Just went to show how big of a project it was in the “top secret” department...</p>
<p>Except for the room on the second floor. The one with the gold-and-red door, locked firmly in front. He’d look. He’d make a day out of it. As word got around the town that the man in the woods had a touristy thing going on, the residents were believably curious. A day closed wouldn't hurt anybody too much… but still, better to tackle it sooner than later. He had a lot of preparation to do, houses to make relatively safe, while also looting the cabin for clues.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Which is what he was doing now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Usually, preparing to unearth a whole new room in what is guaranteed a creepy scientist cabin in the woods wouldn’t warrant anybody to make a cup of coffee just before picking a lock on a huge wooden door.</p>
<p>But fuck, after the previous night he was lucky he didn’t have the idea to heavy drink. Maybe it’d dull the pain he was in post his unwanted mind buddy’s visit, so Stan reassured himself he’d keep far away from any stuff like that.</p>
<p>(Though he had yet to find a bourbon so good like the one he’d dreamt about before this whole pigsty of a situation. Even if it was a trap in the first place, there had got to be something similar, even in the slightest way, out there in the world. Maybe he’d just conjure up another one just for the hell of it on his next trip to the mindscape? Maybe. It was still a trap, after all. Not meant to be enjoyed. But god<em> damn </em> did he enjoy it.)</p>
<p>It was mid-day and the shack was closed, yet there were a couple of townspeople that knocked every so often, inquiring about the hours it was open, even though he had made the adjustment of painting “CLOSED” on an old board and let it rest it on a window where it would hopefully get the attention of passersbys.</p>
<p>Other than that, here he was now, a bandage wrapped around the right side of his face (he had better make a mental note to get more, as his shoulder wasn’t helping the gradual decline of bandage quantity) and a pick jammed in the lock of the red door on the second level. He was leaning in close, putting most of his weight on his knee as he waited for confirming clicks that the door was now accessible to Stanford Pines imposters carefully breaking into every centimeter of the genuine guy’s home.</p>
<p>He tried not to think too hard about it.</p>
<p>As was usual with those annoying-ass intruding thoughts that were certainly not doing him any favors.</p>
<p>(At least he knew Ford was alive. What would he do if he didn’t know whether he was or not? Well, if that wasn’t the case, he wasn't gonna think about it.)</p>
<p>Though it was just him (as in people) in the cabin, Stan breathed carefully out his mouth as he fiddled with the door. It was a habit, he supposed, from previous situations where he was in the same exact position as he was in now.</p>
<p>Physical position at least. Not the situation position.</p>
<p>Fuck.</p>
<p>It weighed down on him what he was doing. </p>
<p>
  <em> Fine. If there’s not any information regarding the portal I’ll ask for help. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> I can’t ask for help. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Just fucking stop and get into the damn roo- </em>
</p>
<p>And there the door clicked open and Stan hummed in approval, smirking to himself. He slipped the pin into his front pocket and stood up straight, feeling the ache of the past nights dampen around him. Aside from after the boxing practices when he was younger, with soreness spreading across his entire diaphragm, Stan had only felt this shitty once more in his life. Hunched over a desk is not as different as hunched over the steering wheel of a hijacked circus wagon, but it damn sure felt the same. </p>
<p>Whatever, moving on.</p>
<p>He pressed a hand to the center of the door and lightly pushed, hearing a loud and drawn-out creak be the only other sound aside his breathing and the softest hopeful whisper.</p>
<p>“Answers, Ford. I need answers.”</p>
<p>When he opened it and the room came into view, Stan deflated and groaned.</p>
<p>“Great. Another big machine. It’s not like you had enough already, Poindexter.” Instantly his mind went to “control panel” or an extension of the project downstairs.. in a way. Hey, it was a big screen with a series of other add-on screens. It must be important portal-wise. This theory was given more merit as, to his left among the papers and books, he saw a large winding staircase that, with a quick glance down, led to the basement. </p>
<p>(Why hadn’t he seen the staircase in the basement, then? Another one of this shack’s stupid mind mysteries, he supposed.) </p>
<p>It was a small enough study, with cloth tarps strewn suspiciously about the walls, causing an ignored but slight shiver to snake up his spine. However, Stan walked in, bypassing a series of items, crystals and geodes perches up in odd places, globes and scrolls of potentially useful material that could aid him in this project, not to mention box after box of… journals?</p>
<p>Perfect. He found the rest of them. That’s something to cross off the list then.</p>
<p>Stan squatted down to investigate the boxes, pulling up one and flipping through it with narrowed eyes.</p>
<p>Nevermind. These ones didn’t appear to be the most elaborate (and not to mention dramatic) like Journal 1 was, as if they were supposed to be a series of “rough drafts” before the final product.</p>
<p>Hell, if it was up to him, the first draft would be the rough draft. Genius doesn’t need planning-</p>
<p>Well, apparently it does according to the actual genius. He never understood geniuses. Geniusing. </p>
<p>And, on the other hand, all the graphing and the numbers and shit that was haphazardly planted on the pages was straining his eyes the more he looked at it. No, this stuff wasn’t portal related, maybe, but instead the diagrams connected to the big machine in the center of the room. Also not portal related, which was in itself a relief and a pain. He cursed under his breath and stood, tossing the journal to the floor in an upturned puff of dust.</p>
<p>Okay, so the big screen machine in the center of the room was another one of his twin’s insane inventions. Crazy and incomprehensible as always, it looked like a giant television but, as always, super-villain-fied.</p>
<p>(Maybe it had cable? Wouldn't that be great? Looking down here and having the background noise would be better than radio static and an irritating roommate. Heck, the panel in front of it could just be a hyper-complex remote and he wouldn’t even know. He tried to think of that as a possibility to kind of… calm? The near-constant desperation and panic, but it did no good. He wouldn’t get to know how the room centerpiece worked, because that wasn’t a priority unless inner-monologue-through-leftover-notes-Ford told him it was.)</p>
<p>Stan took to other areas of the room, moving past more cases, shelving, filing cabinets… and a chess board? Of an unfinished game. He knew how to play, but man was chess a pain in the ass. Strategizing and shit, if anything, it was a smart man’s game and a genius’s gambit. He was never that good at it, always playing well at first and fucking up eventually when it came down to it. Found it harder than hell to charm it with dumb luck as he found that his main strategy through multiple counts of pool, poker, and other various card games in alley-way bars and slum casinos for a quick buck. The best part was seeing the look on his opponent’s face as they realized the sloppy-faced drunkard was playing them like a fiddle the entire time with a hand that was better than his facial expression and nervous fidgeting put it out to be.</p>
<p>But that's besides the point. The board was unfinished in the black end’s favor, with a highly possible couple of turns that could put the white’s king in check.</p>
<p>Bill called Ford the “pawn” just as he got a nickname as the “8 ball” being their respective games meant to con them over. He realized games was just how the demon worked long before, and if that was enough to go off, each of their nicknames had a role of their own. It was a sick way of going about things, but Stan could see himself doing the same thing. In fact, a lot about it was clever and witty in the darkest sense. </p>
<p>It made him want to toss the board over and hear the satisfying clatter of the pieces on the carpet.</p>
<p>But not until he was done rummaging through this joint and pushing his guilt down for snooping in what was supposed to be a private study.</p>
<p>
  <em> You’d think there’d be enough bookshelves upstairs. </em>
</p>
<p>Stan started scanning the shelves for something at least a tiny bit relevant, distancing from the stuff on oddities because he knew enough about <em> that </em>sort of thing. Eventually grabbing two texts and a series of those dusty rough-draft paper-back journals, he piled them on the desk to the right of the room after making brief (and he meant brief) eye contact with the skull perched on the upper half of the shelved desk, nearly knocking over a long-forgotten (yet empty) ink well and its corresponding quill pen. </p>
<p>“That should be enough… but still nothin’ that useful, neither.” He mumbled to himself as he made his way to some filing cabinets rested neatly by the machine. The bottom slid open, revealing a variety of alphabetical envelopes, some wrinkled from continuous use. It was like breaching a gold mine of organization (because finally, there <em> had </em>to be some, even if it was remote.) Immediately, he started fingering through the files, working backwards in search for anything like “Portal.” </p>
<p>A lot of these triggered his curiosity, such as “President’s Tie” which could only confirm his brother’s ties to the United States Government in some way, and though that could be a terrible hindrance to his task, it was pretty funny that this Brainiac could attract more attention from the high and mighty better than the “highschool” and mighty of their peers back in the day. All the while Stan was probably in their government’s prisons, tacking at the stone wall with a mini pick in an escape plan that was seven days overdue. In “M” was “Project Mentem” and though he didn’t know what a “Mentem” was, it was the same thing that was written on the machine in the center of the room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was nothing for “Portal.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan nearly slammed the filing cabinet shut out of frustration, but instead took a deep breath and continued skimming through, keeping an eye open for more “buzzwords”.</p>
<p>Instead, his search took him to C where his heart dropped at the sight of “The Cipher File.”</p>
<p>Now, he had a mission to complete and research to do and a <em> fuck </em>ton of decoding to accomplish, like, right now, but that was enough for him to scoop up the envelope and speed toward the desk, sliding it onto the wood all while leaving the cabinet open. He copped a seat in the revolving chair as he read on through starting article evidence and notes.</p>
<p>First were photos of historical sightings and articles of conspiracy theorist origin. If they were entertaining, Stan didn't notice a bit in his ever focused state on finding any semblance of</p>
<p>“Alligans Contractus”</p>
<p>Yeah, he had no clue what that meant.</p>
<p>But it had contract in the name, kinda, and the familiar image of the demon with an outstretched flaming hand and an unreadable demeanor. Here was something that could help, here was something that-</p>
<p>and it was all in Latin. </p>
<p>“Son of a bitch-“ Stan muttered and resisted the urge to outright crumple the paper into oblivion as he just pushed it aside to the more useless side of the file. That is, until he could find any means for translating. If he looked hard enough through this room, maybe Ford kept around a Latin-to-basic-fucking-english dictionary. </p>
<p>
  <em> Still frustrating, still annoying, but just another bump in the road I’ll add to the driving map of all the bumps in the goddamn world I guess. </em>
</p>
<p>He rubbed his eyes and leaned backward in the chair, making direct eye-contact with the totally-not-real human skull on the desk. Directing his attention back down and flipping through another article, Stan came across a page with some very familiar handwriting.</p>
<p>He smirked victoriously. Anything his brother had to say about the demon would help ten times more than whatever article Mr. Latin Toga had to write. Then again, it could be like first discovering the mirror in the bathroom in his first week here… But something was better than nothing. Like using non direct-answers to get to a final answer, if that made sense.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> “This all-knowing being knows about the unknown and it came to me, bearing its plethora of knowledge. I can only describe the feeling of this responsibility to be invigorating, as well as slightly intimidating. Yet I’ve had no doubts in it nor it’s explanation of the connecting pathways between our consciousnesses and how we’re able to communicate. Here, I’ve included a diagram that illustrates just this. We all have access to our own mindscape, and I can only describe it now as a projection of our soul.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Can this being, as allusive and unfathomable as it is, have its own mindscape? If so, how are we only able to see our own when it comes to dreams? It is my hypothesis that it does not have a mindscape or it is invisible to our naked eye once we enter it’s contained realm. It seems only this creature has the power to manipulate it in any form, at least so it claims. Otherwise, what has been introduced to me continues to be utterly fascinating. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> I am proud to be worthy of its trust with secrets that have been gathered throughout what would be an incomprehensible span of our mortal time. The conspiracies I’ve acquired all line up with the creature’s explanation, and every fraction of evidence seems legitimately true. If it is as truthful as it is knowledgeable, I may be seeing the very state of my future in the field of cryptology and then some. Further information on this matter will be written in Journal 3. Until then, my notes in this file will suffice.” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There is identifying irony and then there’s having irony corner you in a dark alley and beat you senseless with a baseball bat.</p>
<p>This was definitely the second option.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, the journal count was now up to three instead of a hopeful two. </p>
<p>
  <em> Let’s just hope it stays at three. </em>
</p>
<p>Other than that, the only evidence that optimistic and obsessed-with-anomalies Ford Pines existed before the paranoid maniac that greeted him weeks before was right here. At least, the Ford that wouldn’t go on for nearly seven pages about unicorns and “magical glens.” </p>
<p>It broke his heart to see his brother so excited about such a promising something and then have that something totally and completely obliterate any chance he had at success. </p>
<p>If he was actually to focus on the document, there wasn’t too much that was new. Besides the… mindscape part. If Stan was hopeful about anything, it was the thought that Ford grew past the lies that he couldn’t manipulate the mindscape. That was an easy one to tear down, at least for him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The other was… Bill’s mindscape?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The idea seemed completely insane. How could something like that have something that humans did? Or did it… go past? Humans? He didn’t care what the mindscape was <em> exactly </em>, whether it was a “realm” or “dimension” or whatever the terminology. </p>
<p>But was it shared? He hadn’t seen any sign of a mindscape belonging to the demon. Only his own. Hadn’t even considered the possibility it existed. Bill was currently inhabiting the mindscape, so of course he couldn’t share it. </p>
<p>Holy shit, this <em> was </em>confusing.</p>
<p>It was interesting, though.</p>
<p>Even if it didn’t exist.</p>
<p>He decided to read on.</p>
<p>That was the last dignified note in the file his twin left behind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> “The muse known as Bill Cipher might as well be a god among walking men, and I am a prophet of science-“ </em>
</p>
<p>Oh brother.</p>
<p>
  <em> “-Others chosen before me have left behind memorabilia decorating my fated muse in gold and other artistic fashions. Murals of high caliber and artifacts were their swan song orchestrated to honor him. By his instruction, I’ve gathered everything lost in the ruins of Gravity Falls’s caves so that they’re in safe hands. There is no doubt I have come across something that has been worshipped possibly even before time itself. Frankly, I am honored by this recognition-“ </em>
</p>
<p>The rest was scribbled out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yeah, it would have taken every shred of perseverance left in him to read the entire thing. The “you fucked up” energy was through the roof of this place, and the irony beat Stan down even harder with every word.</p>
<p>It was good to know Ford was crazy long before Bill betrayed him. More of a reason to beat the demon into a pulp once he gets the chance. No, because Bill was literally a magnet for insanity if he’s duped people into worshipping him.</p>
<p>Though it gave Stan a vague understanding what was behind the tarps along the wall.</p>
<p>“If I see even one of your cyclops art pieces, I’m burning them.” Stan spat into the void and was instantly annoyed by the lack of response, when typically it would be the opposite case.</p>
<p>He rubbed his temples and stood up, closing the file and letting his gaze drift around the room. </p>
<p>“Okay, okay, okay. Plan time.” Stan grumbled, his voice more hoarse than usual. </p>
<p>
  <em> Seems like a safer place than near that portal where he can get to it. Private, secluded. As long as there’s no funny business, I can see if there’s anything more to use. </em>
</p>
<p>He was getting better at this, understanding more. He had a head start, a grasp on his mind, a way to hold Bill down, and now this study away from the portal downstairs. Sure, the state of his eye was concerning, but it'll blow over. Everything does... eventually?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was absolutely nothing that could go wrong.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm still going at this!<br/>I'm determined to finish this fic because I got like a plan and an end and im so excited to write that bc i cant spoil too much without saying its definitely out of the doom and gloom :')<br/>thanks to those who are sticking around! This chapter was interesting to write because I'm just starting now to think about how these two would have their "effect" in their deal, which is a win-lose on both sides, but Stan's smart enough to tip the balance... probably.<br/>I hope to update soon and wrap pt 1 up when I can!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Free Meals and Memory Loss</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was some time later when he actually considered taking up Susan’s invite. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After all, the Shack was doing moderately well for a first-time business, even if it had been a hassle to box up the more dangerous items (and the what-does-that-thing-do-stuff) from display areas. He was proud of the more “creepy cabin” vibe, even if it didn’t match his style head-on, but it wasn’t supposed to be his style. It was Ford’s house, after all. There was the fear it would get old as the days passed by, but still townspeople showed up, and why wouldn’t they? Their suspicions had come true. The hermit they’ve all gossiped about </span>
  <em>
    <span>was in fact</span>
  </em>
  <span> a creepy mad scientist with a bad haircut. Heck, if Stan was in the shoes of some of these hillbillies, he might as well call that the find of the century. It… made him happy they were so welcoming, even if the welcoming wasn’t for him. But Susan sure made it seem like it was, so what the heck, why not go out for a bite to eat maybe?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan drove along the road and matched the diner with the description Susan gave him. It was near the edge of town in an area more forested that others (if that was even possible- this whole town was nothing </span>
  <em>
    <span>but</span>
  </em>
  <span> trees) and built inside of a redwood log. Pulling into the parking lot, Stan left the car and locked it accordingly, taking the steps upward onto the deck and opened the door to the diner. There were a couple familiar faces from the shack’s tour, but otherwise many of them were ones that were people he’d have yet to con out of fifteen bucks in future tours. Glancing briefly at a sign that said “Seat yourself!” with a smiling face, Stan slipped his hands in his front jean pockets and walked towards a booth by the window. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Through the window he could see the unyielding pines outside as well as the red of El Diablo outlined against the earthy tones. The water tower he’s seen once before when initially driving into the town stretched high above them, a man-made monster among a sea of forest. There was a man in the parking lot that had just left the diner and was standing by the hood of his car with a cigarette in his lips. Stan swallowed hard. He hadn’t smoked since he left New Mexico. Hasn’t had any time to. God what he wouldn’t give for a cigarette right n-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that Mr. Mystery? Ain’t it a joy to see you here!” A familiar and slightly nasally voice chimed and Stan looked up and away from the window to the face of the waitress greeting him. The eye on one side of her face was still closed shut. Shoot. Susan, from the tour, set a mug in front of him as well as a menu. “Would you like some coffee?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s had enough coffee to last him centuries past but he couldn’t say no to her bright and lovely expression. He grinned and nodded. “Wouldn’t I?” He asked back playfully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan pretended to look at the menu while she poured his coffee. He knew exactly what he wanted already, as soon as he walked through the doors and smelled the barest </span>
  <em>
    <span>hint </span>
  </em>
  <span>of it he knew he was craving it when his mouth unintentionally started to water.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I get ya anything else-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bacon. Bacon and eggs? Over easy? With a side of toast?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ab-solutely,” Susan smiled and jotted it down on a little notepad she momentarily fished out of her apron. “Coming right up, hun.” She smiled and turned towards the kitchen, taking the menu with her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked back out toward the window where that man was before but found he had left after having his cigarette. Other than El diablo, there were a couple cars in the parking lot, and Stan could nearly match them with the patrons. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Drinking his coffee, he pondered about what he’d do with the cabin now that he was conducting tours and to go about it. There had to be some manual to all that surveillance tech, it’d be impossible if there wasn’t with the basement being a good fifty percent of cameras and screens. The thoughts eluded him when he found himself lost in the breakfast scents making their home in the diner and he couldn’t help but salivate thinking of tasting bacon again and not having to worry about yet another dine-and-dash.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Susan was back with the coffee pot. He uttered a sincere “Thanks” as she refilled his mug. A thought crossed Stan’s mind then that he should attempt some small-talk, having been out of the game for awhile but was more surprised when she spoke first.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m glad you could drop by! Your little tour I went to was the light of my day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yeah? Well hey, glad ya liked it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That little skeleton gizmo was the best part of it. Anyhow, I’d get rid of that little doo-dad you showed me before that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Shoot.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah, uh-“ Stan awkwardly forced out and cleared his throat and then rubbed the back of his neck. “About the eye thing-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, my eye? Don’t you worry about it none!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can assure you it’s not permanent!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She laughed. “It’s alright! Doing my eyeshadow has never been easier now.” She laughed and he laughed with her, although his was a little more pressed in contrast to her natural one. There was a twinge of silence before she carried on the conversation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How'd you even do that thing with the skeleton prop?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan chuckled again, taking a sip of his coffee nervously when recollecting the events of him being a ghost and using that as a puppet as his only means to communicate. He smirked and leaned back. “Hey, if I told you, where would the mystery be then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was relieved when it appeared she got a kick out of that one, as she slapped the stack of menus in her hand. “Silly man!” she said as she placed a hand on her hip and gestured, flicking her wrist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Susan, a little more coffee, please?” A man called from the bar, interrupting the both of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You got it, Bobby!” Susan replied and looked back to Stan. “Be right back.” Susan said and walked off with the coffee pot. Ripping open a sugar packet and stirring it into the coffee, his mind raced. The people of this town, as he’s speculated before, were </span>
  <em>
    <span>off</span>
  </em>
  <span> in some way, but this woman was just a bit weird based on her reaction to her eye being... zapped closed by that device. She treated it as bygones-be-bygones, completely numb to it in the end. In fact, she didn’t even suspect there was any difference between Bill and Stan in the first place.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She didn’t even notice our eyes were different.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hell, no one did.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But yet everyone knows about Ford and could care less what he did. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Calm down, maybe they did notice but didn’t care to say anything. I am new here, they wouldn’t know-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They’re just too welcoming! I wonder why…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Susan trotted back to him, her pumps tapping against the wood grain. Before she even got to his table, he decided to confirm his suspicions and… actually ask some things on his mind. Maybe these would be questions that would be silly coming from the mouth of someone that already knew them, so he had to be careful and try to be as open-ended as possible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So I’ve kinda been the talk of the town here, huh? You mind giving someone who's lived in the woods forever the word on me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you’re the most famous man in this town, as far as I know! Everyone’s always asking about the mystery man in the woods! Gossiping and all! We’re a close lil family here, so people have always wondered why you haven’t tumbled in!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Susan clattered the menus she held in her hands as she continued.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Especially after all that gossip that spread from the truck stop diner a little over a month ago! That was all the chitchat around here. Day in and day out.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Truck stop?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What did he do?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yeah! Everyone always askin’ me, ‘Susan? Didja hear about the scientist guy visiting town?’ It was everywhere! ‘Has he been here?’ I always said no! Considering you were never around!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She laughed and Stan let out another forced chuckle. Just Ford dropping by a local diner was enough to pry the residents' ears open? He didn’t know anything about what she was talking about. Ford would know but he wasn’t here and Stan nearly thought she would begin asking questions he couldn’t face and expect him to reply-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Strange things they told me… You were there and they then tell me you start screaming your head off! Out of absolutely nowhere and ran out! It was a sight to see for everyone and people started wondering  if you were alright or not.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Well</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>at least I didn’t have to ask for details.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Still…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh shit.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s gotta be Bill related. Has to be.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, yup, heh!” Stan rubbed the handle of his coffee mug with the base of his thumb. “I’m fine, really. It was nothing. Just musta been spooked by somethin’. I completely forgot about it!” He laughed again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His smile dropped when he saw Susan’s eye go slightly glossy as she stared down at the table, the nail of her thumb tracing a circle in the menu she carried.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The funny part is, I forgot all about it too until just now seein’ you here…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She paused for a bit until her face lit up like nothing had crossed her mind (something obviously did) and she smiled at him again and waved her hand at the wrist, brushing off the silence. “Oh well! That happens a lot around here! More often than not! Silly me. Let me go check on that bacon and eggs for ya!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Sure-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a clatter of her nails drumming against the menus in her hand, Susan turned and walked away from the table. Stan watched her go, instantly suspicious.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That was weird. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>This town is weird. That’s the only way to come to terms with it. Hell, your brother built a portal and you’re being possessed by some kinda alien. If that didn’t warrant weird already, the other stuff should come as no surprise. Might as well be a damn cakewalk!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan’s grip tightened on his mug as he stared absentmindedly out the window.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ford was out here making a scene. He was probably terrified. Hey, she forgot about it, maybe others did too. And if I’m him, it’ll be like water under the bridge.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rested his elbow on the table and pinched at the corners of his eyes with his available hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>If only I’d actually talked when calling him all those times at the house. I coulda made up. I coulda helped him out. Would he have still gone to Bill?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That Brainiac really wanted to know shit. I couldn’t have given him that off of a pay phone several hundred miles away. Ain’t no way in hell-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was snapped out of his thoughts with a plate in front of him, slid right besides his coffee as the mug itself was refilled a second later. Susan was back and she had that classic smile on her face. The smell of bacon and over easy eggs wafted across the table and instantly made his mouth water as every concern floating through his brain was substituted by the smokiness of the bacon. A side of toast accompanied it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks,“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She leaned in just slightly and lowered her voice to a hushed but ecstatic whisper. “Anything for the man of mystery! It’s on the house.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To that, she raised her coffee pot and left him with a newly founded dumbstruck gaze on his face</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>and butterflies in his stomach.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>On the house.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Stan glanced at her as she left, talking with other patrons at the bar and serving other plates of breakfast, laughing at their banter and sliding that notepad out of her apron to scribble down orders. His eyes were then locked on his meal and he started eating.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After so long of absolutely nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His taste buds couldn’t rejoice more to being once again introduced to a serving of bacon and eggs, just the combination alone he had taken for granted when trying to eat as fast as possible at other diners before he made a run for it. Here, among the wooden and rustic atmosphere of the diner, Stan was at peace with only a couple things on his mind, being the taste of freshly cooked bacon and the woman who had just given him a </span>
  <em>
    <span>free </span>
  </em>
  <span>meal. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No one </span>
  </em>
  <span>gives him </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> for free.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Was he blushing? Was he smiling?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(Yes, and absolutely yes.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even if he was, he’d never admit it just to maintain his pride.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That bacon was gone within minutes, only the grease of it remained and trailed into the eggs, which he dipped his toast in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Susan was greeting another table some time after, about two booths in front of the one he currently sat at, and her voice was in the back of his head along with the other chatter of customers in the diner at the bar as he worked on the rest of his plate. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Until…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>one of the voices became more pronounced and he winced when it started speaking to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Hey, Mr. Mystery! enjoying your morning and all?</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Right when he had some peace and quiet for once. He shut his eyes tightly and furrowed his brows in frustration and focused on thinking back to the vermin in his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The fuck you want, Bill?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Helloooo?? Earth to the man of mystery, pick up the call!</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I know you can hear me! Don’t pretend like you can’t!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Fine, then! I’ll just keep on talking until you respond back to me! C’mon! Talk back, hello?</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was getting annoying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Grumbling, Stan covered his mouth with a hand that wasn’t holding a fork and whispered under his breath as he turned his gaze towards the window and away from any prying eyes of anybody who could see him </span>
  <span>talking to himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Oh joy! Looks like you finally came to your senses! Thought you couldn’t hear me for a second.</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t you hear my thoughts or something?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>You’re being watched.</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan rolled his eyes and tapped his fork against the wood of the table with his opposite hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I get it. You’re always watching. What do ya want, a cookie?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>I’ll get back to you on that offer! But not by me this time! Look up, you’ve got company!</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Stan tensed and lowered his hand from his mouth, glancing upward-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>and froze. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t know what to expect when the demon said he had company. In fact, he half-expected Bill to play him for a fool and there would be no one there or he’d play that card he did in the convenience store with the tactical hallucination. Anything besides the sight that greeted him which set his nerves on edge now would be better.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a man sitting in one of the booths, two ahead of him</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And he was glaring straight at him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The two made eye contact for a couple solid seconds. The stranger’s- a hostile glare, like if he had been one of the sharks Stan was knee-deep-in-debt to and found him far away in Oregon. Stan’s was a hollow surprise, his eyebrows raised but his eyes blatantly unaffected, a poker face that masked his growing trepidation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wanted to ask Bill who this guy was. What he was doing. But whoever stared at him had </span>
  <em>
    <span>most likely </span>
  </em>
  <span>just caught him speaking under his breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God dammit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man was hunched over, his disheveled dirty blond hair draped over his blue eyes which were locked on Stan over the two vacant booths that separated them. Stan could feel his heart rate speed up as he saw the man was </span>
  <em>
    <span>twitching</span>
  </em>
  <span> every so often, his pointer finger drumming against the table and his eye spazzing out once in a while with a corner of his upper lip. A pair of small circular spectacles were perched sloppily on his bulbous nose and Stan saw one lens was </span>
  <em>
    <span>cracked</span>
  </em>
  <span> and messily repaired with some sort of glue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If this guy was an animal, Stan would half-expect foam to be dripping down his bottom jaw.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So he averted his eyes from the unhinged stranger and continued on with his meal, behaving as if he hadn’t just made eye contact with some random patron who </span>
  <em>
    <span>probably </span>
  </em>
  <span>recognized him? Or Ford? Maybe even both of them and he could tell them apart?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t let him see your hands, just in case. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But as he continued, he could </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>those bright blue eyes narrowed on him, and with no one occupying the booths in the center, Stan began to grow frustrated, considering if he should approach the man with fists clenched-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Susan was making her way by and Stan waved her over. She grinned at him and walked over, balancing a tray of waters in her left hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How is everything tastin’?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s great. Couldn’t be better.” Stan replied, sincerely so, despite the pins and needles in the back of his neck. “Hey, I had a question for ya.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now what's that? Go ahead, shoot!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who’s that guy over there, the one in the booth by the door?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked at the stranger, while Stan stiffened, he was moderately relieved that the former glare was gone and the man stared absentmindedly out the window, showing no signs of noticing their conversation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The lanky fella? Oh, that’s Mr. McGucket! He’s an engineer in this little town of ours. He comes in here sometimes! Overall, really nice guy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why do you wanna know?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, well,” Stan sat up more. “I’ve been in those woods much too long. Time to get to know the locals and future customers now that I’m doing tours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ain’t that just considerate? I’m glad I could help. Don’t be a stranger, get to know us! A little mystery in our lives wouldn’t hurt none.” Susan chuckled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Thanks.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anytime!” Susan chimed and carried on her previous pathway to other tables. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan glanced at the guy again as Susan left and to his dismay, the blond man caught his glance and Stan looked away as quick as it had come.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fucking christ.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Why the fuck is he staring then? Everything she said doesn’t help me at all. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Probably knew Ford.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan finished the breakfast he had gotten for free. If this hadn’t happened, he’d probably be in a much better mood, with the butterflies still harassing him every time the waitress passed by the table. But now, with the introduction of this stranger and Bill’s annoying involvement, he was left with the feeling of dread. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>You want to be him so bad? You better start cleaning up his mistakes!</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bill then started laughing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Loudly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Stan looked back down at his empty plate as his fists clenched and he dropped the fork he held in his hand. There was an urge to hold the side of his head in the attempt to still an emerging headache from the demon’s cackling but with how the man was </span>
  <em>
    <span>still staring at him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he resisted on all fronts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Uh-oh! You’ve been spotted! HAHAHAHA!</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan grit his teeth and he continued thinking <em>be quiet!</em> but Bill didn’t comply. He’s had enough, and though driving would be a pain with a demon in a metaphorical passenger’s seat, Stan stuffed a couple dollar bills under a small promo stand for desserts that was placed by the window on the table and stood abruptly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He left as much a tip as he could in this circumstance alone, which was out of the ordinary for him, but he was walking out of the diner full which only happened once in a blue moon. Moving out of the booth, Stan walked towards the door, feeling the glare of the stranger at the table burden him with its malice and he opened the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In any other situation, somebody staring at him for far too long would have to undergo a consequence or two if he had anything to say about it. Stan wasn’t so easily intimidated, if anything this asshole was just pestering. He’d have the mind to take that skinny prick by the back of his coat and drag him outside, asking him what the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell </span>
  </em>
  <span>his problem was and generally try the whole intimidation game himself. It’s worked in the past, where sizing up people he’s just hustled in a recent game of pool wasn’t too big of an issue. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>However, with him being now a local celebrity and new business owner, it took everything in him to push down the urges to wipe that glare off of the man’s face and just make it to the car so he could go back to the shack. He had the rest of the day and he hoped he could clean up enough to actually make some noteworthy attractions (as well as scrounge through what junk his twin had that could be equated to clues of any sort). Stan hopped in the driver’s seat and started the car, clamping his hands on the steering wheel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without a second thought to him, his right hand reached outward and he opened the glove box on the passenger’s side of his car, </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d be damned if this was going to be a distraction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d be damned if this guy was going to recognize him. Fuck that. He was going to play Ford’s role so well they’d nominate him for an Oscar. No one would know who he really was.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was Stanford Pines, who else could he be?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was Stanford Pines.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Stan didn’t even care to look back through the diner’s window to see that ragged stranger maybe staring back. He didn’t care. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe he’d avoid town for just a little bit longer after that.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The air was getting more chilly as the morning turned into late-afternoon. The fog that had accumulated in the morning morphed itself into a light snowfall that sprinkled the forest of Gravity Falls and a sheltered cabin just north of the logging town. It thickened as the sun went down later on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan was working on pushing around crates of experiments left behind by his brother, investigating its contents and setting those that were somewhat eye-catching aside in as orderly of a fashion as he could. Hey, maybe people would get a kick out of experiment #811 which was a vase containing a number of severed and discolored eyeballs. Their pupils were extremely dilated and did not appear to be from anything recognizable. Maybe he could sell it- Surely nothing bad could come from pawning something like that off to an unknown source.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was in his blood at this point as a salesman.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No. Can’t go that far. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll get him back before then.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The natural light of the snowfall was brightening up the area, unlike the flickering of a hanging lightbulb that swayed back and forth in the front room. It was completely useless on its own, but by god, the more and more that yellowing light flickered and dulled it almost reminded Stan of his determination dwindling and rekindling every time something happened like this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had abandoned his coat some time ago in his investigation when he returned to the house, leaving him wearing a stained tank-top. Also, a cigarette hung from his lips as he scavenged through a different crate while sitting cross-legged on the floor. Most of this should just be boxed up and put away for when Ford came back. However, some of this junk could have people turning their heads no matter where they came from. It was golden, and curiosity pays.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan inhaled and puffed at his cigarette, feeling the contrast of the calm conflict with the sense of urgency to get all this </span>
  <em>
    <span>done </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the first place. Ah well, at least there weren’t any distractions to-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was a knock at the door. Because of course there was. He didn’t suppose he’d get a break today anyway.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are ya fuckin serious?” Stan muttered to himself, growling threatening to break through. He flinched upon a second knock and bit his cigarette at his molars, rising to his feet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I put a sign sayin’ closed, you’d think they’d assume the place was closed. No tours right now obviously means first come first served ‘n that’s it. Doesn’t matter how weird they are...” He sighed and began walking to the door, his head held high and his cigarette firm at the corner of his lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe they’ll just go away.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey! We’re closed right now. Come back tomorrow morning!” He shouted, only feet away from the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A more aggressive and hasty knock followed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Smart guy, huh?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I said scram!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stanford Pines, open this here door right now!” The stranger snapped back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Stan bit his tongue on the reply, pausing in a momentary panic.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Someone knows him after all.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. Shit. Shit. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What do I do?!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There couldn't be two different people than Stan and the other one he was impersonating. His mind blanked as he raced through aliases and excuses and routes this could end up taking. Someone knew Stanford Pines.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Which was him, right?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Right.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’s done this a million times. One more time couldn’t be that different. And if it was, what's the worst that can happen? What’s the best lie he could make up on the spot if this all turns south?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stanford! I know ya can hear me!” Another knock, rushed and bitter against the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“F-Fine! Fine, I’m coming.” Stan turned briskly on his heels and slid on his coat, shoving his hands in the front pockets and retraced his steps to the door, unlocking it in multiple spots and opening it-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To find that gangly thin man from the diner.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was shivering and his eyes bore straight ahead in a cold gaze, carried by the dark circles that traced below them. His blond hair was damp with snow as well as the shoulders on his worn-down jacket and he had tracked snow up on the porch, his shoe prints outlined against them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“oh, it’s y-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan stopped abruptly as a clattering of wood was met at his feet and he backed up a bit, startled, as he could see... all his advertising signs below him. They had been uprooted from where he planted them earlier in the attempt to lure more people to the (now dubbed) Murder Hut in order to make a quick buck. It was tedious enough to juggle that along with searching the cabin itself-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>but now all his hard work lay right in front of him, only filling his busy schedule with future prospects of putting them back in the ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gripped the door frame in a tight fist and opened his mouth to speak, or yell, or </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> before he was interrupted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is the meanin’ of all this here, Stanford?! I come all the way out here to see you’re tryna pull somethin’ of some kind? The heck’s this all doin’ out on your lawn?!” The thin man spat at him between clattering teeth. Saliva spewed from his lips and a line trailed down his chin before he wiped it away with the elbow of his coat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Stanford.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s dangerous to invite people here, ya said it yourself! What in tarnation were you thinking?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“First off, why the hell were you stalking around my-“ </span>
  <em>
    <span>brother’s. Ok, hold on, he doesn’t see any difference. Turns out Ford made some friends, easy enough. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“... my house? Look, pal. You put those back or-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Back?!” This southern stranger looked as if he was about to have a heart attack. “T-that is exactly what we want to avoid…! I-“ His foot tapped against the wood of the deck as he backed up and Stan watched as his blue eyes, livid with a new enraged paranoia, traced the property. “Your surveillance system is off…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan felt his pulse quicken and he cautiously slid his hands in his pockets. “Yeah? So? What’s it to ya?” He muttered in defense.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Y-your security system is off too. That’s the most i-important thing because… well I don't right remember what but I know it’s important.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>How does he know the surveillance system is off? Who is he?!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A-and… this?! Seein’ ya in town?!” The stranger bit his lip and then forcibly lowered his voice. "I know you don’t like it but do you have any idea how many minds I had’ta wipe after what happened with you? You were the talk of the town after all that hootenanny some time ago.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ok. This dude was officially out of his mind. He couldn’t make heads or tails about the insane ramblings of the southern man on his doorstep. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The hell are you talking about? It's not a crime for a guy to step into town and get a cup of coffee. But you’re sure treating it like it is. So what do you want?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do I want?” The southern man spat, raising his hands. “I said to myself I would lighten up on them folks. I did and I was but now I have new concerns b-because of what I’m seein’ here and what Susan told me you were doin’. But I assure you I did but then there’s the risk of them rememberin’ and suspectin’ what's going on…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s going on?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” He said confidently but Stan could almost hear him mutter something about not recalling what exactly that was. On top of muttering about the “stupidity of Mr. Mystery”, which Stan heard barely but that didn’t stop the beads of nervous sweat to emerge on his temple as the man continued. “Th-this isn't like you. I don’t know why you’ve done this. Our number one priority is nobody to go on suspectin’ things.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Our. Mother of fucking god. This guy worked with him. How much does he know? Seems close to vaulting off the deep end if anything. He might not know much but shit, if he knows about the portal… Hell, he already knows enough about the fucking underground surveillance, I guess!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>...He could help.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Our? Right, yeah. Nothing here to suspect. Bad power outage. There was a bad power outage and that’s why they came down. You know, the usual.” Stan barked out, visible sweat creasing on his brow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ain’t lying on that one.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The southern stranger narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. “Then why are you-“ He stopped. His breathing was shallow as he made eye contact with Stan and his expression softened, turning into one of concern.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stanford… do you know who I am?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One person.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>ONE person in this crummy little town that actually knew his brother. However, he couldn’t tell how well ties were and there was nothing to help him out. The unhinged state the man was in didn’t offer much either, other than the sarcastic thought that </span>
  <em>
    <span>of course</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ford had an insane partner or friend of some kind, as if Ford wasn’t coming apart at the seams himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe it’d be best to say, ‘look, your buddy had a twin and now he’s in a close comparison to H-E-double-fucking-hockey-sticks because I messed up big time. Say, you have any idea what the portal to said hell is doing in the basement? Because I sure don’t. I still ain’t processing this fully because hell’s joke of a receptionist turned its attention to me. That’s bad, right? Glad we agree. Now would you happen to know anything about that so that I don’t have to do this all by myself?’</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yeah, wouldn’t that be nice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And then, if he didn’t, who would be running to the government saying that there’s a portal in existence and the madman running the operation had taken the place of another. What happens when this man found out Stanford Pines was taking a permanent (no, don’t think about that) leave of absence at the moment and the one masquerading as him is a dangerous convict banned in 43 (or 45?) states who is currently under the alias of-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Actually, his aliases were muddled right now. It’s like they were on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t call one to mind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That’s… weird.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nevermind. That’s not important. Point is, best not be seen as a murderer. Hey, if this guy is easy enough to sway into the act maybe it’s best to just… gain some trust? See how much he knows? Then pull back the curtains and face the result head on?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yeah. That’s for the best. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, yeah..! Of course I do, why wouldn’t I?” He forced a smile on trembling cheeks and swallowed, his palms sweating from within his coat pockets. “Uh… how do you spell your name again?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nevermind. Time to panic.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The stranger’s eyes became wide as he took a step closer to Stan and studied him with inquisitive eyes, hollow now of emotion until he broke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t remember me, do you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No wait, I do! Uh- aren’t you-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh no…” The man whispered and backed up, his hand covering his mouth. “No, no, no! I told ‘em <em>not</em> to come here, to fiddle with this. T-the townspeople maybe, but- oh, this is bad.” He then proceeded to bite at one of his nails on one hand as he averted his gaze. Stan’s eyes widened.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay, now that was unexpected.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Whoa, hey. Calm down. ‘Course I remember you? Mcsomethin’?” Stan pressed, his smile quickly leaving his face. This guy was clearly Mc<em>frazzled</em>, but knew Ford, yet he wasn’t asking the questions that Stan thought he would ask. There was no interrogation, just a frost bitten and crazed stranger muttering to himself on his front porch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wouldn’t be the first. Hopefully it would be the last.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How much did they erase? Do ya remember anything? Anything at all?” He spoke through grit teeth from behind his hand. “I need to know what they did, who they w-were… if i-it was me, even… i don’t know… wouldn't recall.” Muttering more quietly, Stan could hear him continue on, while he stood there awkwardly in the doorway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Erase what? Remember what?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, well that all doesn’t ring a bell. Do you want anything or-?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At Stan’s response, the man snapped his attention back up and to his surprise, walked briskly forward into the darkness of the cabin, pushing Stan aside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“H-hey! What do you think you’re doing?!” Stan snapped and flicked on the light to the interior of the shack, watching this lunatic stop dead in his tracks and start gathering everything around him. He flicked his cigarette outside. It wouldn’t be that difficult to kick him out into the snow, </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>yet would that be in Ford’s nature? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll make it his nature if this freak gets too comfortable.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What in heavenly haybales made you think this was a good idea? S-some of this is dangerous.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan swallowed the lump in his throat. “The research got a little bit too risky over here,” He started and folded his hands behind his back, pressing down the frustration in the back of his mind. “Decided to put it aside for the most part. Focus on bigger stuff. Besides, yeah, super dangerous, which is why I, you know, don’t let people too close. The scientist way?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was definitely out of practice. Stanford was a fucking thesaurus. There was no way he could pull this off without using some damn articulation of some kind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Just throw in the towel. Ask for his help.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...you ended up taking my advice after all. But...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh… yeah. guess you could say that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thin man turned around to face him and Stan, now in the light of the cabin room, could see more about him. He stood in a somewhat slouched position, his shivering hands held close to his chest. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in years, with an unshaven chin and bags under his eyes. He even looked worse than what Stan saw in the diner.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stood facing each other, silent for a bit before the man straightened his glasses and his mouth opened and closed before he spoke in a croaked voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stanford… what </span>
  <em>
    <span>happened </span>
  </em>
  <span>to you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan’s eyes widened and he sneered in annoyance, holding his wrists behind his back tightly as his brother would rather than folding his arms in front of him as he wanted to do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You ain’t exactly in mint condition yourself, pal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-“ The man started and stopped before he broke eye contact and proceeded to find the floor more interesting. His hands folded over one another nervously. Stan sighed. This crazy memory-ridden moron was obviously important somehow, but if he was tricked, well, then maybe-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I've been… havin’ a bit of a hard time lately.” The stranger said and then Stan’s eyes narrowed as he thought he heard him then mumble something about ‘letting yourself go since we’ve seen each other.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How’d you know my surveillance and stuff was down?” Stan snapped, unexpectedly. The squirrelly man jumped. Stan pushed this aside and kept his voice serious, trying to sound as much like his brother as he possibly could, and Ford’s voice seemed too fresh in his mind through the incident weeks ago. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So they did erase your memories. A-at least of me, I suppose? I told ‘em not to, I swear! I made 'em promise they wouldn’t come near you! But then they go off and do this tomfoolery right from under my nose.” He snapped to himself and then took a couple steps toward Stan, who was doing everything in his ability not to take a step back. “Answer me honest-like this time. Do you know who I am?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Now was the time to be honest.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But on the same coin, how much would this fool help him out with knowing he <em>was</em> Ford’s twin? If he knew Ford well enough, obviously Stan’s name would come up with some kind of backstory if he ever told this guy about him, and all the cheating and scheming and lying he was associated with. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Doesn’t bode well nor does it compliment the doomsday machine in the basement. Actually, in any case this was the perfect scenario to tinker with, with this man claiming Ford had some sort of short-term amnesia of some kind and was able to forget people entirely. Stan wasn’t quite sure </span>
  <em>
    <span>how</span>
  </em>
  <span> just yet but what’s the harm in humoring this to death?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was no fail safe though if he went through with it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a risk to take.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Now is the time to be honest.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t,” Stan said, defeated and in an impression of a voice not his own. “My… memory is actually fuzzier than I can remember. That and all my tech is down. It’s been tough to figure out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The stranger’s face softened yet again and he sighed, his shoulders deflating as he looked at Stan, sorrowful and scared. “I’m sorry. This... This is my fault, but I’ll do my best to make it right,” He straightened up and looked Stan dead in the eye. “You know me as Fiddleford McGucket. We were partners before we separated and I helped you build… well, I reckon I don’t know much else, but your computers all know me. At least by the name of ‘F.’”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oh boy this chapter was long but i rlly rlly enjoyed writing it<br/>More character interaction and an itty bitty glimmer of hope<br/>absolutely nothing can go wrong here right :D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Help is a tricky thing to come by</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“F.”</p><p>Now that makes sense. </p><p> </p><p>The first journal had notes written in by “F” along diagrams of inventions listed in its contents. This whole time he figured it was his twin trying to be dramatic and vague.</p><p>Stan could only imagine what was written in the journals that followed and if this “F” knew where they were. Hell, he did most likely know. He was Ford’s partner in all this insanity, his mechanic on hand, his confidante in the face of brilliance. This was a lucky, lucky hand that Stan had been dealt, and yet there were some drawbacks to it.</p><p>The only one who could help him was here, but in some sort of a crisis. The crisis being going on about his memory and <strike>Stan’s</strike> Ford’s being erased without any context. This guy was a maddening sort of vague and it pestered Stan to be so out of the loop in what seemed like a situation that found the two on opposite ends.</p><p>Now, here comes Stan out of left field, with the crime of sending his twin into the expanse of the unknown by not getting the hell out of dodge with Bill the moment he had him in his possession.</p><p>Or rather, when he was in Bill’s possession. With Bill possessing him. Literally.</p><p>In any other case, that would have made one hell of a joke. With laughs. </p><p>Whatever, no, he can manage. </p><p>Or <em>try</em> to manage Fiddle-whatever Mc-don’t care. He knew that not only had he been introduced just now, but Susan at the diner basically gave him the name before all this went down. He mentally kicked himself for not having the name on standby when Fiddleford put him in the spotlight, but being able to repeat a stranger's name after hearing it just one time? If someone can do that without fail, they're obviously a hyper-intelligent reptilian in a human skinsuit. </p><p>Speaking of hyper-intelligent assholes, Stan wondered what Bill thought of this guy. In fact, Bill hadn’t brought him up at all. Stan didn’t even know if F knew about the demon. He wasn’t sure it was safe to tell him either, especially when the rubber band that was Fiddleford’s sanity was stretching to an immeasurable degree.</p><p>About to snap. </p><p>Stan couldn't say he cared.</p><p>
  <em> Only if this fool can cooperate. </em>
</p><p>“Right. F. You built all those gizmos downstairs.”</p><p>Shit. Gizmos. Knowing Ford he’d probably go on and on about how they were ultra-super mechanical breakthroughs with robotic scientific blah-blah-blah. Nevermind, perhaps he was lucky this guy’s memory was queued for the long run... and it might slow him down in terms of connecting the dots right away.</p><p>“Sure did,” Fiddleford said. “I built much of it, we worked on so much together…” he trailed off and stared at Stan with saddened eyes. “Somethin’ happened. I’m sure of it, b-but this ain’t right. People comin’ here ain’t right. It might inspire prying eyes… government involvement…”</p><p>“Yup. Don’t need any of that.” <em>Especially right now.</em></p><p>“I can help ya tinker with things and get them back up to running again. Hopefully get joggifying your memory and mine, after everything. R-right some of my wrongs, you know.”</p><p>“Sure, yeah.” Stan clasped his wrists behind him tighter. Maybe it would be a bit in finding out exactly how familiar F was with the cabin (and the basement below), but there’s no harm in trying. “Did you… walk all the way out here?” Stan asked.</p><p>“I ain’t fit to be drivin’ right now.” Fiddleford then muttered under his voice “On account of what happened last week” softly enough for Stan to pick it up but know it wasn’t for him to hear. He decided not to press it further and figured that was the wise choice. Noticing Stan wasn't saying anything, Fiddleford continued. “I’d rather begin sooner than later starting the system back up downstairs.”</p><p>So he knew about the basement. However, there was a certain something in the basement that was a bit more unexplainable than a surveillance system.</p><p>Yet, there were actual computers down there. Stan could count on one hand how many home computers he’s seen before he stumbled on Ford’s porch. He didn’t even think those futuristic machines <em> were </em>computers in the first place. Hell, one wrong move and he could be thrown back to the 20’s when fumbling around in the dark with that stuff.</p><p>Part of him just wanted to come clean, say ‘Hey, F, you don’t by any chance know of a world-ending weapon below the floorboards, right? You musta built something for it, right? Maybe?”</p><p>But the portal was recent. In all honesty, by the disheveled state of his guest and the fact that it wasn't even a concern Ford wouldn’t even <em> remember </em>him in the first place…</p><p>Who knows how long they’ve been apart? Sure, the memory circumstance was a bit foggy (no pun intended) but overall, Stan was this close to a headache just trying to make sense of it all. Perhaps putting the machine in the dark for awhile would benefit the both of them. Just until he could get more to work with. </p><p>Alright. That sounded like a plan.</p><p>“Look, hey. You’re right. What I’m showing the public is far more dangerous than I thought it was gonna be,” Stan cleared his throat and pressed the impression. “I’ll put a pin in the business until-“</p><p>“No! No pins! You need to shut this DOWN, now!” </p><p>Stan stopped at Fiddleford’s sudden yell. He was a witness to the crazed southerner go through emotions like shuffling cards as the spark of rage dwindled again into a short breathing, confused panic. Fiddleford paused and spoke again.</p><p>“I’m sorry, I m-meant this tourist hootenanny you got yourself into. You need to shut it down.”</p><p>Stan merely shrugged. “You already pulled my signs up. I’m not about to waste my time planting them back in.”</p><p>“That’s good then,” Fiddleford mumbled and stepped away from Stan, averting eye contact and holding the side of his head. “I ain't meanin’ to be here for long, t-though I’ll be back in the mornin’ to help you power things up.”</p><p>“Yeah, uh, I’ll be here.”</p><p>With that, Fiddleford stepped away, slowly at first but clutched his jacket at his sides and turned on his heel, walking towards the door with a haunted look in his eyes. Stan, frozen, watched him go with his hands still clasped behind his back. Fiddleford grabbed the door handle and pulled it open.</p><p>“Hey, wait-“</p><p>Fiddleford flinched then turned towards Stan, who had just realized he spoke up too soon.</p><p>“Umm…” Stan started and cleared his throat again. “You said you didn’t drive here, so you can cop a seat on the couch for the night.”</p><p>
  <em> What am I doing?! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I need to sleep too, but that imposes the risk of- </em>
</p><p>“You’re sure?” Fiddleford muttered.</p><p>
  <em> Fuck. Fuck. Fuck it. Fuck it! No matter how batshit he is- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I guess I’m doing this. </em>
</p><p>“Yup.”</p><p>
  <em> If he trusted you, then that’s in character for me. For Ford, I mean. For both of us?  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Since he’s not here. </em>
</p><p>Fiddleford shut the door carefully, and locked his gaze with Stan’s. His eyes were calculating, as if he was some sort of rodent lingering around a shred of discarded meat, cautious of a trap laying underneath it.</p><p>For Stan, he harbored this same exact feeling, but under the guise of an unreadable and vacant expression.</p><p>He felt he was going to regret this.</p><p>Fiddleford turned away and held his coat closer together. “I’ll take the back room then.” He said and Stan could hear him mumble something else under his voice, but it was indiscernible. He nodded in response and watched the engineer walk off into the shadows of the shack.</p><p>Stan stood there for a minute, maybe two, in the silence that followed the closing of a distant door. He recognized it as the door to the room with the terrible carpet. Listening and waiting for any creak or groan of the floorboards in the other room and then hearing nothing after awhile, his tension seemed to die down.</p><p>This was a mistake. This was a terrible idea. The worst he’s made in a long time.</p><p>Well, maybe not that long of a time but he got the idea.</p><p>The façade was going to have to be enough, if he could maintain it- maybe make use out of some of Sixer’s gloves that he could never wear properly due to the extra appendage. </p><p>He could find something to act as the sixth digit, maybe like a fake finger in a bottle or something. No, knowing his brother and his hall of curiosities, it would unfortunately be real. And gross. A sixth finger wasn't hard to fake, he was just overthinking it. Maybe because of all the pressure now on his shoulders.</p><p>
  <em> What am I gonna do about the portal, though? </em>
</p><p>The portal. Right. Everything F would have to fix and start up was right next to the damn thing. It was the focal point of the grand enclosure, and showing it so soon would surely spark some questions. </p><p>Questions he didn’t really want to answer right now, after everything.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>That Spectacles. What a guy.</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>Stan stiffened and cursed under his breath. “Ever think about giving me a warning before you butt in?”</p><p><b> <em>Oh, relax! </em> </b> Bill’s shrill tone echoed around him, as it would the dreamscape. <b> <em>I just can’t believe you let him in! He’s not exactly the best candidate for your plans, Stanford.</em> </b></p><p>“Don’t fucking call me that,” Stan snapped and clenched his fists. Well, now that he brought it up, that’s all Bill’s ever going to call him.</p><p>
  <b> <em>Geez, so-rry. It’s not my fault you’re forgetting a name tag. I’m going by what you know now. I'm being nice! For once!</em> </b>
</p><p>He didn’t know what spawned a bigger headache. Knowing he had another night to stay awake in full or the fact he had a feeling Bill was going to be more difficult than usual.</p><p>He made a grunt of disapproval and sluggishly walked to the kitchen. It had been recently cleaned, as was the bathroom (he could only put that place off for so long before calming his nerves enough to scrub the mirror at least.) There was a routine that Ford had with this guy at some point. </p><p>“What’s that guy’s deal anyway?”</p><p>
  <b> <em>The Spectacles has been a thorn in my sides since Six-fingers traded partners! I became the fan-favorite, and I know he never appreciated it! And its hard to divide up one's favoritism, but being so petty about it is annoying!</em></b>
</p><p><em> Does he know him? </em>Stan thought to himself then pressed his lips together in frustration. He wasn’t sure how to ask something that has all the answers about a matter that could help him when that’s obviously not on the creature’s to-do list. Maybe Bill did know Fiddleford, but honestly, he wouldn’t get a straight answer.</p><p>
  <em> Also what’s with calling him ‘Spectacles?’ If it’s like all the nicknames he’s given Ford then maybe…</em>
</p><p>“Does he know about the portal?”</p><p>
  <b> <em>Wouldn't you like to know?!</em> </b>
</p><p>And there it was. Just as he thought. The internal facepalming was required at this point.</p><p>“Fine. I didn't expect a straight answer anyway."</p><p><em> <strong>You can ask him, and I hope you do! It'll be fun to watch what happens after! I'll grab front row seats! </strong> </em> <em> <strong>Otherwise, I know you didn't expect answers! So I didn't give you one! I could always give you other answers if you weren't blocking out all of my generous help to you!</strong> </em></p><p>"Generous. Funny choice of words.”</p><p>
  <em> <strong>It's your call, Stanford! Don’t kill the messenger! </strong></em>
</p><p>Stan grit his teeth and opened the fridge, grabbing himself a can of soda. With the Murder Hut’s earnings thus far, a sixteen-pack of Pitt Cola was the number one item on the “grocery list.” It's been a hot minute since he had the sweet drink, and maybe that’ll be enough to keep him awake alongside coffee. Now having left the kitchen, Stan grabbed a large tarp that was thrown over an empty tank in the back of the room, quite possibly being a past home to a grotesque aquatic monster of some kind before it was covered. An idea appeared in his head as he folded the tarp and stuffed it underneath his arm. Snatching a lantern from a stack of boxes beside him, he lit it with his free hand.</p><p>Stan then made his way to the elevator and closed his eyes as he entered the code with the hand that held the soda. When the metal door opened with a gust of air being expelled, he walked to the elevator, stepped in and the door shut behind him. Leaning up against a side of the elevator, he sighed, the flame of the red lantern flickering and making his surroundings glow.</p><p> </p><p>A long night was ahead. One that Bill wouldn’t touch. </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He made it.</p><p> </p><p>The digital analog clock on the desk in the private study showed 8:30 in the morning. </p><p>Score.</p><p>Stan hadn’t gotten much done, but on a slim optimistic note, he had gotten a few more ciphers down from the first journal and also had a decent gander at the textbook listing various decoders. However, a majority of them, he’d admit, were nothing but roadblocks and realizations that he was making a passage somehow make <em>less </em>sense than what it was originally. Stan would make trips down to the basement, in and out of the laboratory, but most of his time, he was slouched at the desk he was borrowing.</p><p>
  <em> Why’d Ford have to make this sci-fi shit so god damn complicated? </em>
</p><p>He knew why.</p><p>It was the Brink of Science, The Feat of Mankind, an overmilked Hollywood plotline-</p><p>yadda yadda yadda, blah blah blah. This was aggravating. </p><p>Hey, but now he wasn’t the only one in this dogfight.</p><p>Maybe.</p><p>
  <em> Wouldn't want to put all the unhatched eggs in one horse cart. </em>
</p><p><em> Or however that saying goes</em>.</p><p>Sighing, Stan rubbed the back of his neck and then the back of his right shoulder, which <em> ached </em> terribly, pulsing and pinching in all the wrong spots. He needed to switch out the bandages, it’s been a couple days since he last touched it, or showered in general, but he had a feeling it wasn’t healing as fast as he needed-</p><p>
  <em> Quit it. It got seared deep. If it hurts too bad, that’s when I gotta worry. Ain't doing anybody a favor worrying about it now. </em>
</p><p>Stan pushed himself up from the desk and grabbed the lantern, which was slowly burning out in the cool of the study. Maybe he’d be up before that hillbilly redneck would be. After all, Fiddleford looked tired enough to sleep longer than he intended.</p><p>Closing the journal with a couple of torn-out notebook pages acting as a bookmark, Stan left the study and went down to the basement laboratory, sliding the journal back into the sliding compartment that complimented the desk. He then made his way back to the elevator, snagging a couple of Ford’s gloves from the laboratory (hey, look at that, they DO make six-fingered rubber gloves... or maybe Ford made them) and shoved them in his pocket before pushing the button for the first floor.</p><p>As he ascended, Stan pinched the bridge of his eyes and cleared the gunk from the corners. Fuck, he was so <em> tired </em> and he felt like <em> shit. </em>And last night, he had his body to himself but even that felt like so much of a chore. Hopefully today, things would change. </p><p>He trudged up the stairs, heavy footsteps echoing up the hallway and he yawned. Wood grain creaked under him as he got to the top landing and opened the metal door-</p><p>“Good morning, Stanford.”</p><p>“Holy moses-!” Stan jolted and clutched his chest upon seeing his southern guest from yesterday standing right at the door.</p><p>“You changed the code.”</p><p>“Yeah, no shit I changed the code!” He snapped and clasped the lantern a little bit tighter. If he wasn’t awake before, he definitely was now- and on high alert. Living alone for the longest time would do that to a person, and then being startled first thing in the morning was just a cherry on top.</p><p>Stan pushed past Fiddleford to set the lantern on a cloth covered table. He stood there for what seemed like a good couple heavy seconds with one hand on the table and the other in his pocket, clutching the gloves. </p><p>“You remembered the code?” He eventually asked.</p><p>“Yeah. Well, maybe. I don’t know. I reckon it’s still fuzzy, but after the first couple tries I ended up just givin’ up on it.”</p><p>Stan stayed silent, then straightened up and slid his other hand in his opposite pocket. Fiddleford was looking down the staircase, brow furrowed in some kind of puzzlement as he continued. “Though, I don’t much recall goin’ down there all that often. I suppose I did...”</p><p>
  <em> Great. More of this trend. </em>
</p><p>If he had to hear that excuse one more time out of this guy he <em>would</em> punch something.</p><p>“Well if those are your computers or whatever down there, obviously you forgot something,” He responded, with venom in his voice. “Should know how to fix ‘em though, or this was just a waste of my time.”</p><p>Shit. He was in a bad mood. The lack of sleep and the surprise meeting this morning didn’t help either. He hadn’t even made coffee at this point, which he should go do now before he ran his big fat mouth any longer.</p><p>“I <em> know </em>how to fix the things I’ve built. I’m sure of that, at least.” Fiddleford said under his breath and glared at Stan. “I ain’t some absentminded fool. My name’s tied to this place. If it gets discovered I’m goin’ down with it. I reckon you stop thinkin’ this will only waste your time. Or that this was ‘bout you in the first place.”</p><p>Stan was silent and bit the inside of his cheek. He then crossed his arms and took a deep breath. “Fine. I’m going to go make coffee.”</p><p>“I already did. Go help yourself.”</p><p>Stan couldn't help the sliver of surprise that passed him, knowing somebody else was in the house... and in the kitchen without him knowing.</p><p>
  <em> Any friend of Ford would sure know he needed coffee twenty-four seven. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Still doesn’t make me happy knowing I’ve got this random guy making a staple in Ford’s place. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It’s just because I don’t know him. Ford probably trusted him and all that mess. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Suck it up. </em>
</p><p>Stan shrugged and walked towards the kitchen, but as soon as he was beyond the door, he slipped Ford’s gloves on, grabbed a mug from the cupboard, and helped himself to some freshly brewed coffee. He must have not been awake for long, yet it was still nice to get the jump on things. Stan would never admit he appreciated the break.</p><p>He can do these things on his own.</p><p>But might as well put a pin on breakfast and make his coffee order to-go for Fiddleford was probably making his way down towards the basement. He made it so the portal, thankfully, was masked under a thick tarp and the only thing really relevant in the area to an unknowing eye was the lab itself. He could delay the revelation just for a bit longer until F got all familiar again with whatever he did with Ford. </p><p>Leaving the kitchen, Stan grabbed his mug and went back into the main room to see that Fiddleford had already walked down the staircase with the lantern. He grumbled under his breath and followed, seeing the scrawny man fiddling (no pun intended) with the controls to the elevator.</p><p>“I swear this… feels familiar…” He was muttering to himself, repeating the same phrase over and over again with failed combinations. Stan rolled his eyes and stood close beside him, tapping in the command to the keypad and backed up when the elevator cranked and rose.</p><p>Fiddleford looked back at him and Stan just stared forward at the elevator. When it opened, Stan was the first one in, with Fiddleford at his heels. He was just down there. All night. And now he was just going back down again.</p><p>“Stanford,” Fiddleford started, a little hesitant by his tone of voice. The two were about the same height, with a bit of an anxious slouch on Fiddleford's end (It rather looked like he was curling into himself defensively at all times…) yet Stan was a bit uncomfortable to see the southern man always looking up at him. He said nothing as Fiddleford continued. “Right after I help you out with this… I’d like to investigate who erased the memory of me from your mind.”</p><p>
  <em> Great. This again. </em>
</p><p>He was still absolutely clueless on what the hell Fiddleford was even <em> talking </em>about with this horse shit. But, again, it was a helping hand... in a funny way.</p><p>“Yeah? Whatever. Knock yourself out.”</p><p>They arrived to the basement in silence afterwards, and two tired men walked out of the elevator and into the darkness of the laboratory. Fiddleford, holding the lantern, shone it around at the varying machines and computers and Stan glanced at him, immediately noticing the cogs turning behind his eyes. This was a good sign, a sort of relieving sign, and he then turned to watch him.</p><p>“Welp. This is it. Haven’t been able to turn anything back on since the power outage.” Stan said and clasped his hands together.</p><p>“Why do you have that up?” Fiddleford inquired and shone the lantern at the tarp that covered the window of the portal room. He looked as though he was studying it, his eyes suddenly fixed and his eyebrows tightly knit together.</p><p>“Eh, it’s just to cover some future research and projects. You know. No biggie. Science stuff.”</p><p>“And what's that?”</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t know about the portal.</p><p> </p><p>Or did he? If he did, he wasn’t showing <em> any </em>signs of knowing. </p><p>What if Fiddleford couldn’t help him?</p><p>All Stan could think of was what Bill said the night before. To tell him now...</p><p>Was it all gonna be a trap?</p><p>
  <em> Hey, I prepared for this. It’s ok. This was the plan. Just take a deep breath and play genius for a bit. </em>
</p><p>“Look, I know you say my memory’s shot and that’s why I don’t remember you. But the fact is that I <em> don’t </em>remember you. And this just so happens to be somethin’ I’m working on. Capisce?”</p><p>Fiddleford almost looked annoyed at that, diverting his attention back to Stan and putting his hands on his hips. “Whatever it is, I’m sure we’ve worked on it together-“</p><p>“We get the surveillance back on and everything and sure, I’ll fill you in on the details. You said getting this place back up and running came first. Then we figure everything else out.” Stan claimed, cutting him off. He meant that, at least. </p><p>Fiddleford sighed and hesitantly nodded. “That… yes. Yes, that’s doable.”</p><p>“Peachy.” Stan grumbled and walked over to the desk, sipping at his coffee before planting himself in the seat. </p><p>Now to further progress in getting that dumb book figured out. Fiddleford already was investigating the deactivated surveillance center, eyes set on the screen that was to the periscope. </p><p>“What were we building to warrant this much security?”</p><p><em>‘You can ask him, and I hope you do!’</em> Bill's threat (and it could only be a threat) lingered in his mind.</p><p>"Nothing important." Stan stated, with a stone in his throat, hopefully fixing to deter Fiddleford from pressing it. He wasn’t fooled, however, and Fiddleford hummed once in acknowledgement. Stan could feel the southerner’s gaze drill into the back of his head.</p><p>There was a heavy silence before Fiddleford spoke again.</p><p>“Was it dangerous?”</p><p>Another silence birthed itself before Stan stiffened, and his eyes shut tight.</p><p>“Yeah. I’d say it was.”</p><hr/><p> </p><p>There were no more questions after that.</p><p> </p><p>Fiddleford messed around with the surveillance equipment, familiarizing himself with wires, dials, cameras, basically all this tech-y stuff Stan was in the dark about. In the beginning, he predicted it was kind of like fixing up a car, but quickly realized nothing like what was down there even closely resembled automobile parts. It was hard enough figuring out that damn book and organizing the notes Ford left behind. He was rather trying and failing to make a completed puzzle out of them knowing all the notes were out of order in terms of time they were written. Some were when his brother knew more and others were when he was first beginning on the project. It was exhausting, sleep was caving in on him, and he was probably a coin flip away from throwing the book through the portal room window (was it shatterproof? most likely but hey, at least it wouldn’t be an <em>in</em>effective way to blow off steam.)</p><p>Stan watched Fiddleford over the course of the beginning hours become completely absolved and transfixed with the machines. He didn't know if F remembered them or not but it didn't matter as long as Stan was able to get a guard up around the shack again. Ford's past government involvement was starting to worry him slightly as the days ticked on by and he needed to have a plan incase it got from bad to worse. </p><p>He wondered if this was how it was like when Ford was here working with this… weird, weird guy. And he was <em> strange</em>, the longer Stan was in the basement with him as time ticked by. He was quiet, though sometimes his humming broke the silence or he’d begin muttering something about the cameras outside needing to be repaired every so often as something… interfered with their feedback to one of the machines that managed to turn on while the others stayed dark. F also mumbled on about their locators messing up and growing cold and other nonsense. Apparently that tracked <em>heat</em> signatures? Stan must have asked the internal question 'how the hell does that even begin to work?' at least a hundred times in the first hour.</p><p>
  <em> Damn, how much exactly did that portal fuck up? </em>
</p><p>Apparently a lot, if it was any indication why Fiddleford was sticking around well after the morning had come and gone.</p><p>He didn’t try to ask what Stan was up to or what he was working on, but Stan suspected if he knew Ford well enough (or the high school version at least), Ford wouldn’t bother explaining to any prying eyes if he was absolutely entrenched in his work. Be it math homework or instructions for a catastrophic doomsday device, Stan was somewhat grateful for this, as he minded his business and tried not to snap at the man rambling under his breath at the other end of the laboratory, leg bouncing against the concrete floor, and the occasional shuffle of readjusting glasses. Stan could just tell also that Fiddleford was looking in his general direction every now and again, sparing him unreturned glances while Stan just forced himself to look down and <em> ignore him</em>.</p><p>He’d hope that Fidds would hurry up so he could answer any questions, dart around with vague answers just like he was used to, and then take care of other matters outside the basement. On the second floor in the study he had so much more to unearth, maybe, just maybe, another journal would be laying around there somewhere. There’s only so much he could do down here.</p><p>He would just have to wait for a little bit. Heck, this would all be worth it if Fiddleford could help.</p><p>There’s no way this plan could fall through.</p><p>
  <em> Maybe it’d be better if I brought it up now? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> No. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He doesn’t know about it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Bill, for some reason, wants him to know right now. Something isn't rubbing right with that. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> What do I do? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> What would Ford do here? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Probably tell him he could do this on his own. He’s smart enough. He could do this without him. Setting up a scary-ass surveillance system with cameras and shit and not need anyone to help out. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And what do I do? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The exact opposite. </em>
</p><p>Stan internalized a groan and tried to focus back on the page, squinting past his blurry vision. This would have to do for now, and so he could deal with it. Just until… he could bring up the portal.</p><hr/><p> </p><p>Through flickering blue lights, they both labored away at their respective things. Fiddleford fumbled through wires, and it was so quiet that Stan could hear the frayed edges of some rubbing against the bandages on the hillbilly’s fingers as he toiled. Most of it was silent, but when the southern man kindly asked Stan to hold a flashlight down by where he was working, Stan would get up from the desk and squat down with the light aimed in his direction.</p><p>He had no clue what was going on, but that portal experience must have done something to the jumped system. Speaking of which, Stan was surprised Fiddleford didn’t press about the tarp in the basement and if he had any concerns or curiosities, he just kept to himself and a bouncing leg. Infact, it was like he didn’t care about it or have any interest in it whatsoever after their last conversation, which was a sigh of relief. He even strayed away from tech affiliated with the contraption behind the tarp, centering around the ones he could... identify (which, Stan prepared somewhat of a plan where, incase F recognized the rest, he'd offer the explanation and the truth about the portal but... that never became the case. Obviously Fidd's memory was gridlocked to hell.)</p><p>It had been hours and Stan, in the drowsiness of the night before, was struggling to keep his eyes focused (no, open) on the pages of scientific tomfuckery in front of him. If anything, he should have been thankful for Fidd’s noisy leg-bouncing because it certainly wasn’t conversation keeping him awake. </p><p>“Oh darned salt-lickin', gold-pannin' son of a-“ Fiddleford cursed as Stan saw at the corner of his eye a couple sparks ignite underneath one of the machines. “Whatever caused this musta been somethin’ incredible. I can’t see what made these go out! I should know, too. I made these myself-!”</p><p>“Yeah, well you remember that snowstorm a couple weeks ago?”</p><p>Fiddleford shimmied out from one of the machines just to look at Stan. He held a screwdriver in one hand that had come from a toolbox stashed in some corner Stan hadn’t noticed before. “Snowstorm…?”</p><p>Stan’s eyes widened and he raised a fist to his mouth, clearing his throat awkwardly. It was a gamble to bring up anything with this guy because, fifty percent of the time, he didn’t know anything except what could be common knowledge. And for him, that was the only completely safe thing to bring up. “Yeah, some time ago. Major wind and all that stuff.”</p><p>“Cant believe a snowstorm caused this. Perhaps it’s the reason I don’t know much about it, I suppose.” Fiddleford mumbled and then scooted back under the machine.</p><p>Stan nodded, side-eyeing the engineer. He finally stood up, shut the book closed and put his hands in his pockets. “Hey, look. I’m gonna go make some coffee.“</p><p>“Oh, alright. I think I’m close to figurin’ this out. Just a little bit behind but I replaced a couple of parts and-“</p><p>“Yeah, okay. I’ll be right back.” Stan said, not wanting to be apart of the engineer’s mechanical ramblings. He took the empty mug from the control panel desk and the other from off the floor by Fiddleford and walked towards the elevator.</p><p>Suddenly, bright blue lights appeared behind him and a low and dull hum of startup overtook the basement. He turned his body at once to see a myriad of screens activated and lights blinking.</p><p>“Oh shoot! It worked. That last switch worked.” Fiddleford exclaimed as he clambered out from underneath the machine.</p><p>Stan's heart quickened at the sight of the first actual progress he had seen in his time here, and he looked excitedly towards the tarp that covered the window. However, it was still dark, with that vivid blue glow from the portal not shining through the cloth itself.</p><p>“Looks like it’s workin’ after all. I thought I’d have to replace half the components in this one here but it’s lookin’ like I don’t have to go about all that after all. The cameras in the front and on the right side are down but that’s an easy fix. At least audio feedback is good. Trackin's on, see us right here-“ Fiddleford then started rambling about the process and half-laughing as Stan tuned it all out.</p><p>
  <em> It didn’t come back on. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Well, who knows? Maybe I could mess with it tonight, tell Fidds about it now and we’ll solve this all now- </em>
</p><p>“Golly, is it really three in the mornin’? M-makes sense, I’m barely able to keep on keepin’ my eyes open.”</p><p>Stan snapped out of his thoughts and he folded his arms behind his back, fiddling with each of the pens that acted as a substitute to a sixth pinky finger, following the gaze of the inventor, where the time was displayed on one of the laboratory screens.</p><p>“You feelin’ alright? ...Stanford? You’re… lookin’ awfully pale.”</p><p>
  <em> It didn’t turn back on. Of course it wouldn’t. Why would it? Why would I get my hopes up in the first place? </em>
</p><p>“I’m fine. Just, I dunno,” Stan muttered and rubbed the back of his neck. “Little tired. No it’s great, this is great. It's working now.”</p><p>
  <em> I never woulda been able to get that on by myself. </em>
</p><p>“It’s not a problem. I’m just glad this here system didn’t undergo irreversitized damage outta that there storm. You should be thankin’ your lucky stars.”</p><p>
  <em> Tomorrow morning for sure, I’ll tell him. If we do this right... then maybe it won't be so bad?  </em>
</p><p>Stan merely nodded and cracked a small smile.</p><p>Fiddleford returned it, though it was more nervous as he was sparing shifty glances from Stan and the tarp Stan had been staring at before. He put his hands on his hips and bowed his head before looking back up. “W-well I’m about to get some shut-eye. I’m tuckered out beyond all help. You should too, instead of keepin' awake. We’ll set more of this up tomorrow and I’ll go about repairing the cameras at the entrance. Get that screen from being blacked out.”</p><p>“Y...yeah. Me too. Sleep, I mean.”</p><p>“Right... Okay, well… goodnight," Fiddleford paused and eyed the other man. "Stanford.”</p><p>“Night.” Stan looked away.</p><p>Fiddleford’s smile dropped as he cautiously made his way towards the elevator and stepped in, not taking his wary and tired eyes off of Stan until the elevator doors closed and the mechanical whirring of the machine took him skyward.</p><p>And Stan walked forward through the laboratory, among the now lit-up machinery with screens flickering alive from a recently resurrected system. He should be, in fact, thanking his lucky stars the mad man had been able to fix it, but as he pulled open the tarp a bit to peek at the dark cave-like clearing that held the portal, it was still black as pitch. The grandiose monster behind it was a mute thing, and it had the hairs on his arms stand up in defense.</p><p>No, it wouldn’t work. They were two different forms of machinery, the surveillance and the portal, but the smallest part in him wanted it to at least power on, even though he knew in his core he <em> could not </em>under any circumstances restart the portal… until he discovered his loophole.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe that would be tomorrow.</p><p>Or…</p><p>Tonight.</p><p>Just to see if it worked.</p><p> </p><p>If it didn’t, he’d just wait. If it did, he’d just stop it.</p><p>Who’s to say but himself?<br/><br/></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter was going to be short but it got out of hand whoops<br/>But a lot of this is inspired by personal headcanons from canon about these two disasters being in the same town once their only connection flew the coop into the vacuum of space.<br/>The laboratory is tricky to really figure out in the show, but once you gather up a couple screenshots and the like, it becomes a lot easier to wrap your head around.<br/>Also, it was interesting tinkering around with F's mental state at this point, where hes forgotten the portal and knows theres a reason why he forgot it in the first place so he'd drift away from obvious reminders or things he doesnt recognize. Like, something obviously pretty bad went down but there's a job that needs to be done. Also gives me a bit of an excuse to give Stan some much-needed assistance for once.<br/>I'm excited for the next chapter which will be uploaded this week!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. The Name You Called Yourself</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stan waited until he heard the footsteps that thumped up the stairs to make his move into the portal room. When the automatic door granted him entry, he lumbered over to the lever at the center of the clearing, putting both his hands on it, and even as the sound of the system in the other room thundered in his ears, he tightened his grip around the pulley and-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nothing.</p>
<p>As was expected.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He sighed in a mix of disappointment and relief. So it wasn’t that easy. That was a good thing, he supposed. He put a gloved hand on his hips and the other to his forehead. </p>
<p>This wasn’t meant for tonight. Whatever emotions were running through his head, at least. But the adrenaline and the build up for the thing-that-definitely-wasn't-going-to-happen had him feeling awake, more or less. Maybe he could take advantage of this with a little bit of looting through the second floor. He’s been busy with attractions as well as Journal 1 roadblocks. Now's the time if ever with Fiddleford asleep upstairs.</p>
<p>He turned and left the portal room, the tarp flapping slightly when the automatic door slid open.</p>
<p>Stan turned and pushed one of the machines that had been situated against the wall in the laboratory, revealing a hidden door which could have only been the entryway to the spiral staircase that was present in the study. Why Ford would hide this was obvious, assuming he wanted to keep the study under wraps, but now it was just enough for Stan to make a quick shortcut to and fro. He reminded himself it was best to put a lock on it just in case Bill got any funny ideas, but for now, he could hold him off. Stan proceeded to climb the staircase, hearing the buzzing and rumble (rumble? Was that there before?) of the newly activated laboratory behind him as he ascended, his gloved hand sliding against the railing.</p>
<p>When coming to the top of the stairs, Stan got situated, pulling a bunch of boxes from underneath a burgundy leather chair perched near the wall opposite the desk. Hauling the boxes to the carpet, he dropped down to his knees and started setting up piles of ones worthy to bring to the desk and the ones that could stay in the box. From “Nuclear Waste Disposal Sites in The United States” taking a position as the first one of many discarded to “Universal Paradoxes and you!” going to the desk, he rooted through each one.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And just as he had six books stacked, there was a slight creaking of wood from just behind him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan froze and his head shot up, elbowing the box away-</p>
<p>“Oh no. Not so fast there, 'Stanford'.” There was a familiar clicking sound of a safety switching off and Stan clenched his teeth as he looked in the reflection of “Project Mentem” before him,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>where he saw the figure of Fiddleford aiming a strange-looking gun at the back of his head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I reckon you put your hands up where I can see ‘em”</p>
<p>Stan felt his blood turn to ice immediately, and a cold sweat was already building on his temple. Hearing a gun being pointed at his head was an achingly familiar sensation, with the fact being he couldn’t count the number of times of it happening on less than two hands, that’s for sure. However, judging on Fiddleford’s obviously unstable mental state, Stan just… had to comply.</p>
<p>Hesitantly, he raised his hands above his head, feeling the pen on the pinky of the glove readjust in the leather. His face was stone, expressionless, with nothing of his lingering fear to show and sliding his leg underneath him, he knelt there.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Should have just told him in the beginning. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Take off them gloves.”</p>
<p>“The hell? Why do I n-“</p>
<p>“Take ‘em OFF!” Fiddleford belted in a trembling voice. He could almost picture the southerner behind him, shaking and confused, thinking of the thing that gave Stan away over and over again in his mind while also trying to be rational about it. Stan’s seen this before with the others, but it never had been a situation this dire. </p>
<p>The jig was up. His lousy cheap impression was see-through at this point. There was a itty bitty part of him that was impressed it lasted as long as it did. Yet, it didn't overpower the stomach-dropping sensation that he <em>had</em> fucked up in the first place. </p>
<p>
  <em>Now if this guy’s not trigger happy enough just to allow me to explain myself, that would be great. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> What the hell was he doing hiding in the elevator anyway? I thought I heard him go upstairs, goddammit! </em>
</p>
<p>Stan closed his eyes tightly and with his left hand, he gently pulled the leather glove off the right, and as time slowed to an immeasurable halt, he felt the cooling sensation of sweaty palms exposed to the chilled air of the second floor. Again, this action was repeated with the exposed right hand sliding off the left. With his hands still in the air, he dropped both gloves on the ground, hearing the muffled sound of leather hitting the carpet below as well as the two faux fingers.</p>
<p>A sharp intake of air was heard behind him and he did his best to not cringe at the sound of it. </p>
<p>“I knew it.”” Fiddleford started, heartbreak bleeding into the previous fear rocking in his voice.</p>
<p>“Hold on, alright? Fidds, can I call you Fidds?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Too bad, I’m doing it anyway. So, okay, I know this looks bad, but if you-“</p>
<p>“You ain’t Stanford Pines.”</p>
<p>Yeah, so what if that was right?</p>
<p>Because it sure was.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There certainly was no Stanford Pines present. The only other one around was lost in time and space somewhere. Hopefully safe.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The other "Stanford Pines" was being held at gunpoint and he was leaning more into the not-safe side of things in leu of what might have been passing through the engineer’s mind. </p>
<p>But he <em> was </em>right. </p>
<p>He was not Stanford Pines.</p>
<p>Just temporarily went by the name.</p>
<p>No use hiding it now.</p>
<p>Fiddleford saw the hands, after all. The fail safe Stan had been building up this entire time was one acme anvil away from being dropped on his head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You… uh, yeah. No, fine, I’m not.” Stan slid one foot forward from his kneeling position cautiously, and slowly turned to meet his attacker while standing. Weirdly enough, this bulb-powered-mechanical-looking machine was one of the more normal guns he’s seen. At least, in terms of sci-fi bullshittery from the movies and posters. He’d rather look at that anyhow than see the confused and startled look in Fiddleford’s blue eyes. “Maybe if I start over-“</p>
<p>“K-keep your distance. And start talking. Where is he?” </p>
<p>“That’s complicated-“</p>
<p>“Where is the <em> real </em>Stanford?!”</p>
<p>“Okay, okay, calm down-“</p>
<p>“Don’t you DARE be tellin’ me to calm down!!”</p>
<p>“Okay, fine. Look, can I get a turn? Answer some questions? Let’s not be hasty, I’ll tell you everything, alright?”</p>
<p>Fiddleford’s hands slowed from erratically shaking to a quivering at best as he nodded and took a couple quick yet shallow breaths from his nose. Relieved, Stan exhaled and started to lower his hands. </p>
<p>“KEEP. THEM. RAISED.”</p>
<p>That was instantly a mistake. </p>
<p>“Okay! Jeez!” Stan raised his hands up quickly and took an off-balanced step back as Fiddleford’s guard came right back up. Stan stared into the eyes of a mad man who was hellbent and frightened. There was almost a pang of pity for him. Almost. After all, Stan was the one unarmed here.</p>
<p>“W-what are you?” Fiddleford started, his grip on the gun tightening. </p>
<p>“Excuse me?”</p>
<p>“You’re not Stanford. A-and you’re not that shapeshifter-! It would KNOW about his polydactyly. S-so what are you? A bad experiment? A clone gone rouge?!”</p>
<p>“Uh… no.” Stan glanced to his side and back, trying his damned <em>best</em> not to crack a nervous smile at the ludicrousness (but also believability) of that go-to explanation. Also, Clone Gone Rouge had a nice ring to it but right now was, admittedly, not the time to think about that. “I’m human? As human as a human can be. Last time I checked.”</p>
<p>“Then why do you look exactly like him?!”</p>
<p>“I’m his brother-“</p>
<p>“LIAR!” Fiddleford shuffled forward and his gaze practically burned with hatred. “You’re lying! I’ve met Sherman, and you look <em> nothing </em>like him!”</p>
<p>“Sherman? Wait. Fuck.” Too late. Stan rolled his head back and now was anxiously grinning. “No, I’m his <em> twin </em>!”</p>
<p>“He doesn’t have a twin.”</p>
<p>Stan could feel his heart cave into his chest and he had to bite his tongue. His smile faltered.</p>
<p>“I-it’s just him and Sherman. He didn’t tell me he had a twin-“</p>
<p>“Well I exist, alright?!” Stan shouted, having the other flinch in surprise. “Ain't a big surprise why Mr. Genius wouldn’t mention his good-for-nothing copy!” <em>Too harsh. Dial it back.</em> “I mean… sure, yeah, I’ve done some bad stuff. I'm not the world's noblest guy. I’m not like him. At all, really. It’s been hard enough trying to be in his shoes so far. I <em> really </em>don't know what I’m doing.” He chuckled, trying to ease his nerves. “He never mentioned me, he’s ashamed to call me his brother? His twin? That's fine. It’s fine! I can get that. Peachy. Spectacular. But that doesn’t change the fact I think the world of him. And I’m trying to get him back.”</p>
<p>He was breathing hard, the monologue ending abruptly as he tried to summon more of an explanation just for this maniac to <em> trust </em> him. He could only think of one thing, and it <em> scorched </em>him and his pride respectively but… this is what he intended to do in the first place.</p>
<p>“...I need help. And just so happens you’re the one he worked with. But I need help. I need help.”</p>
<p>Fiddleford’s arms relaxed and the gun lowered ever so slightly as his once previous enraged expression fell into one of contemplation, as if he was mulling this all over. The sound of silence and ragged breathing was the official soundtrack of the private study.</p>
<p>“What gave me away?” Stan asked, just to break the horrible record. </p>
<p>Fiddleford, to his surprise, smirked as if he was just told a terrible joke. “I had a funny feeling... that entire time. I saw everything down there and just... knew. Though, he never, ever, under any circumstances, left his study unlocked. That, and I saw ya tryin to decode that journal. As if you had no idea what it said. I didn’t ask why but…”</p>
<p>“I <em> don't </em> have any idea what it says. There’s, like, blueprints and shit and I have no idea what they’re saying and I’ve been trying for <em>weeks </em>to figure it out.”</p>
<p>“Where did you say he was?”</p>
<p>“Look, let’s get out of here and I’ll tell you everything you need to know. Maybe you can help, I mean, I’ve seen the F signature! You two musta been close.” </p>
<p>
  <em> But I didn’t think you’d remember that. </em>
</p>
<p>Fiddleford opened his mouth as if he were to consider it, as if he were to speak, but then his jaw clamped shut and he shook his head frantically before looking back at Stan. “Why should I believe you? After all that and it could still all be a trick!”</p>
<p>“Oh come on! What else do I need to do?”</p>
<p>“It’s more like what you need to get on sayin’. Y-you say you’re some kinda estranged twin of Stanford’s and that you’ve been p-parading around his house for weeks while he just <em> let </em> you in? H-how do I know you haven’t done somethin’ right horrible to him?! I don’t even know you or of you and I’ve known Stanford for <em> years</em>!”</p>
<p>“This is bullshit!”</p>
<p>“Answer me!!!”</p>
<p>“Well, I-“</p>
<p>“Who are you?!”</p>
<p>“What? I just told-“</p>
<p>“No!” Fiddleford took two steps toward him while holding the gun higher. “What’s your name?!”</p>
<p>“Oh!” Stan chuckled and tilting his hands in a nervous gesture as they were by his head, took another step back. “Why didn’t you ask? I’m Stanf-“</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No it’s not.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> No you’re not. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan’s whole face fell in dismay, and his vision began to become more unfocused.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, wait. My name is Stan…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No. That’s not it either.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That’s half of <em> his </em>name.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I’m Stanford Pines. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That’s the wrong answer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It has always been the wrong answer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fear clouded his vision as he desperately ran through his mind for the right answer. Something that was so obvious suddenly was barricaded from him. The sensation was such as trying to remember a word and it laying on the tip of your tongue while also knowing that it was a word you probably said years ago. Like a forgotten language or a brand of something long discontinued from childhood. Something was wrong immediately and it was vile in every sense of the word. </p>
<p>“Well?!” Fiddleford yelled.</p>
<p>
  <em> Think of something! </em>
</p>
<p>Stan glanced to the side, somehow just hoping he could think of it but nothing-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>ʍɹʌxs dsbɐɐɯʞ.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That was it. There it was. From the fog emerged that string of… words? It certainly was something.</p>
<p>But… he didn’t even know what it meant. He couldn’t even pronounce it, for fuck's sake. He wouldn’t even know how to think about pronouncing it, let alone say it. There was no hope in spelling it either.  It was something he could never even describe. It didn’t sound human, if it <em> had </em> a sound at all. That’s the best way of putting it.</p>
<p>But nevertheless, that was his name.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Whatever it was.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It didn’t work, and the longer he waited the more tense the room had gotten. A fog of hostility was rapidly spawning and he had to say something or he’d be shot with whatever that <em> thing </em>was. It could vaporize him or something.</p>
<p>
  <em>Got to think of something.</em>
</p>
<p>Aliases.</p>
<p>He had none.</p>
<p>In place of them his mind grew radio static that sprouted like weeds. Trying to recall at least one name on any state’s driver’s license brought the picture of an empty card, a blank social, a scratched-out passport, a vacant birth certificate. Every identity he’s ever had- ever felt…</p>
<p>was null and void.</p>
<p>Leave except that one thing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>ʍɹʌxs dsbɐɐɯʞ.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He erased it.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“That little prick-!” Stan screamed and whirled to his side, throwing his hands down and kicking at the stack of books, launching the articles to the floor. Fiddleford jumped and backed up frantically, his finger messily fumbling right at the tip of the trigger.</p>
<p>“DAMN it!” Stan gripped his hair at his scalp. “Fuck! He couldn’t drive me insane so instead he does this HORSESHIT?!” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> What’s he trying to do?! Make me question who’s the real Stanford?! I know Ford’s still in the portal so what’s the fucking point?! Am I getting it?! What am I not getting?!  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> It’s why he’s been calling me Stanford. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> That piece of SHIT. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Who?! What are you goin’ on a-“</p>
<p>“Okay, fine. You want answers? Great! So I don’t know who I am! But I’m not Stanford. I’ve been going by Stan just to <em> cope </em>with this whole thing.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>ʍɹʌxs dsbɐɐɯʞ.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“But now, finding out, that might not be it at all! While Ford’s out lost out there I’ve just been wearing his nametag and running things just to pay a couple bills while I basically walk in circles-“</p>
<p>“L-lost where?”</p>
<p>“In that machine you two built!” Stan held his hands angrily out in front of him, balled into fists as he felt his voice start to stagger from just the rage he was in. “You say you don’t remember it, whatever, but that doesn’t change the fact you had your fingers in the making of a god damn portal!”</p>
<p>Fiddleford’s face became pale and his jaw dropped. He looked sick, and his bottom lip quivered. His hands started shaking once more.</p>
<p>“He’s in that thing and I can’t get him out! For weeks I’ve been looking around here, pretty much looting the place for any way to turn it back on! So that HE can get out and I don’t have to do this anymore!”</p>
<p>“I- I… portal? S-stanford fell in-?” Fiddleford’s eyes were so wide they looked as though they had taken up his entire face.</p>
<p>“Yes, he fell in. Thanks for connecting the dots for me, genius. Now would ya connect the rest so that we can get it powered back u-“</p>
<p>“Forget it… Forget. Forget it… forget…”</p>
<p>Stan stopped and studied the confused and disoriented man behind the trigger, who had just begun frantically mumbling to himself. The same word over and over again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I forgot it… I forgot… forget it…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was then that Fiddleford’s gaze darkened, like he had just some dreary and horrific realization. He met Stan’s eyes with a merciless and serious gaze before he spoke.</p>
<p>“We can’t open it.”</p>
<p>“Now you remember it? Perfect. Then you can help me-“</p>
<p>“I’m not opening it. <em> You’re </em>not opening it, either. W-whoever you are. Stanford fell in? He’s as good as gone.”</p>
<p>“Don’t you <em> fucking </em> say that!” Stan took a couple quick steps towards him and yelled at the top of his lungs, pointing a finger at Fiddleford’s chest and in turn, having the weird sci-fi gun pointed directly at his. “Don’t <em> ever </em>say that! You’re helping me get him back!”</p>
<p>“No I’m not! You don’t know what’s on the o-other side of that thing!”</p>
<p>“Oh don’t I? I’ve been playing in his fucked up sandbox ever since I got into this mess!”</p>
<p>“Stanford’s?”</p>
<p>Stan growled and mentally kicked himself for where this conversation was inevitably going. “No, it’s not Stanford! It’s something else and to make it even better, it’s a pain in the <em> ass </em> to explain! Even after weeks of him being <em> thrown </em>into that thing, I still can’t wrap my head around all this-“</p>
<p>“I thought you said he fell in.”</p>
<p>Stan’s mouth clamped shut.</p>
<p>“W-who threw him in?” Fiddleford’s right eye twitched. “Did you?”</p>
<p>“No, well yeah, but-“</p>
<p>"Yeah?!"</p>
<p>"No! Someone else, alright?! Another partner of his, okay?!"</p>
<p>“...So he was still working with him.”</p>
<p>Stan opened and closed his mouth dumbly as he bit down on any emerging words and let Fiddleford speak.</p>
<p>“H-his new partner. T-the… I… I don’t know. I’ve seen him talkin’ with himself… talkin’ with <em> something </em>else. He couldn’t have come up with all this on his own. And heaven knows I can’t! I ain't smart enough! I…”</p>
<p>Fiddleford trailed off and Stan swallowed hard, his hands balled into fists.</p>
<p>“You know about him?” Stan asked cautiously.</p>
<p>“I… uh… I-“ Fiddleford stuttered, his nervousness skyrocketing until he was fidgeting and twitching like he did in the diner.</p>
<p>“You know about him, do you? You remember something.”</p>
<p>Fiddleford’s eyes glanced back and forth between the ground and Stan, and he was visibly trembling.</p>
<p>“Fidds, do you remember anything about Bill Cipher?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Silence.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The regret came as quickly as the first breath was held.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Suddenly, Fiddleford stopped shaking and his eyes trailed slowly up to meet Stan’s, but they were stuck in a dark and horrified gaze. His skin was pale if not a tad bit green as if he was about to puke. This made Stan’s blood run cold at the sight of the man and of the air that helplessly carried more and more of that heavy quiet that followed his last question.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Until it all broke.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Y-yroo zrksvi. Girzmtov.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Uh… what?” Stan raised an eyebrow.</p>
<p>Fiddleford collapsed to his knees abruptly, clutching his head and mumbling that same phrase repeatedly before he resorted to screaming it. The gun dropped out of his hand and clattered to the wood floor.</p>
<p>“Holy shit-!” Stan yelled and took a couple steps forward. </p>
<p>“YROO XRKSVI! GIRZMTOV! YROO XRKSVI! GIRZMTOV! BLF SZEV PROOVW FH ZOO! BLF SZEV PROOVW FH ZOO!”</p>
<p>“What the hell are you talking about!?” Stan exclaimed and approached quickly, kneeling down and placing his hand on Fiddleford’s shoulder, regret leaking into his voice. “C’mon, man! Cut it out! Please! Knock it off! What's that mean?! What's wrong?!”</p>
<p>He knew what was wrong. He just didn’t want to bring the attention back to It.</p>
<p>And to his dismay, the southern man wouldn't stop at all, too far into some sort of panic that Stan tried (tried) to alleviate by shaking his shoulder. “Hey! Fidds! Would you get a hold of yourself?!!”</p>
<p>Fiddleford continued screaming that abhorrent meaningless phrase, and Stan quit shaking his shoulder, powerless and staring at the empty scared eyes of Ford’s confidante. Nothing would work, he couldn’t be reached. Scanning the area, Stan then noticed the gun at the side of him and reached for it-</p>
<p>before Fiddleford sprung forward and grabbed his right arm</p>
<p> </p>
<p>before sinking his teeth into his skin and latching on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“FUCK-!” Stan screamed and shook his arm before punching the smaller man in the side of the jaw to get him to release it. When the loud and echoing sound of a <em> crack </em>broke through the study, to a mix of Stan’s sheer terror and relief, Fiddleford scrambled away towards a wall and snatched the gun back. He coughed and gasped, making a hostile whine of a sound before Stan noticed there was red on his bottom lip. Aghast, he looked down to his arm that was stiff and contorted with pain and he was breathing heavily in disbelief. A large indent of a human bite mark decorated the top of his forearm, and fresh blood was already trailing along his skin.</p>
<p>He looked sharply up at Fiddleford, glare burning in his hostile and <em> terrified </em> face. Gripping his arm right above the wound, he hissed through gritted teeth. “You fucking <em> bit </em>me-!”</p>
<p>At this, Fiddleford rubbed his jaw, where a bright bruise was already forming and clumsily spit out a tooth onto the floor.</p>
<p>“YOU. FUCKING. <em> BIT. </em>ME!”</p>
<p>“I WASN'T SUPPOSED TO REMEMBER!” Fiddleford <em> howled </em> , his voice cracking. His mouth was soiled in blood, and it dripped sloppily down his chin. He was hysterical, twitching and his movements were sparse yet erratic. “I wasn’t supposed to remember what I saw. I wasn’t supposed to r-remember what was in there! I was supposed to <em> FORGET! W-we all were supposed to forget!</em>” Fiddleford pushed a hand against the wall and hoisted himself up, manic, clumsily, and scared. “<em>YOU. </em>did this, Stanford Pines!”</p>
<p>“What the hell?! I told you, I'm not-!”</p>
<p>“I reckon you SHUT your trap!” Fiddleford retorted and was fumbling with a dial on the gun, frantically glancing at it and back at Stan. Fresh tears now were spilling down his face. “I-if we’re doing this… You’ll forget about this too! You’ll forget <em> everything!</em> I-I’ll WIPE YOUR ENTIRE MIND IF THATS WHAT IT TAKES TO GET RID OF HIM.” Finished with meddling with the dial, he raised it at Stan’s head, hatred boiling behind his eyes. “I <em> never </em> wanted to! But after all you done <em> put </em> me through, I feel it’s right you forget any of this ever happened! I FEEL LIKE YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN THE FIRST TO FORGET.”</p>
<p>“You were supposed to help me get him back!!”</p>
<p>“AND I HOPE THAT YOUR MONSTROUS ATROSITY DIES WITH YOU!”</p>
<p>“Wait, let's think about this-!” Frantically searching for a plan, Stan backed up and his shoulder fiercely bumped against a singular tarp hanging on the wall-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>and inevitably sent the whole thing cascading down.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hidden behind a series of hanging tarps</p>
<p>were murals of Ford’s muse.</p>
<p>An omen of the end of the world.</p>
<p>The three-sided hell-bringer from the other side of the portal.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The other side of their universe</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And Fiddleford screamed yet again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His vocal cords broke yet that did not stop the bellowing wail that he emitted once the wall behind was revealed. Stan whisked around and looked sharply up, to see Bill’s eye staring directly at Fiddleford.</p>
<p>
  <b> <em>HELLO AGAIN, SPECTACLES.</em> </b>
</p>
<p>Stan heard the demon’s voice so presently he swore that the southern man could have heard it too somehow. If it wasn’t for Fiddleford’s own scream that failed to stop.</p>
<p>And before he re-directed the gun and shot at the mural.</p>
<p>A bolt of bright blue rang out from the gun and Stan ducked, hearing it fizz right over his head before bouncing off the wall behind him and ricochet-</p>
<p>To land right between Fiddleford’s eyes.</p>
<p>The scream abruptly stopped and Stan turned his head again just in time to see Fiddleford tumble backward and fall onto the wood below, landing with a thud. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>For a moment, </p>
<p>everything was dark </p>
<p>as if Stan was suspended in space time. </p>
<p>Staring at the body of the man who was supposed to help him in the first place laying on the floor of the private study.</p>
<p>He felt like he stood there for hours. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Just…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>in shock.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>looking at his last call for help just lying there.</p>
<p>Stan put some distance between him and the murals above him, looking up at them, only for all of Bill’s eyes to be looking forward once again.</p>
<p>He wanted to yell out, to curse, to tear down everything.</p>
<p>It was all him. Everything was connected to Bill. Bill had drove two people absolutely insane. Who knows how many more?</p>
<p>And now one was laying on the ground unconscious thanks to that... well, whatever shot out of the gun. </p>
<p>Which was on the floor, completely out in the open.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan let out a short, terrified breath and with his left hand, scooped up the gun and decided to look it over. A pretty standard sci-fi gizmo, with a blue bulb for a barrel and whatever else was in this thing’s design. One of the only things that stood out, rather than a tube at the top of the gun, was a miniature screen that read </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stanford Pines.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His eyes narrowed as he put the weapon aside on top of the desk to rest on a mound of the textbooks he was looking over the night before. He'd keep it down here, maybe figure it out. But, right now, whatever that thing was wasn't important when there was a body just feet away from-</p>
<p>“Uggghhhh…”</p>
<p>Stan stiffened as Fiddleford let out a groan and he turned towards him.</p>
<p>“Well I’ll be damned. He’s alive.” Stan whispered to himself.</p>
<p>Stan glanced around the room, eyeing the murals and tapestries and figures of the triangular demon and only one thought crossed his mind in that moment.</p>
<p>
  <em> I have to get him out of here before he freaks out again. </em>
</p>
<p>He rushed over to the limp and barely conscious body, lifting Fiddleford from under his arms and towards the door. He barely weighed anything, and as Stan lifted him, he prayed to whatever cared that this maniac wouldn’t wake up and hell,</p>
<p><em> bite </em>him again.</p>
<p>Which, if anybody cared, his forearm was currently ablaze with discomfort and pain and his anxiety level was sharply increasing the longer that it wasn’t tended to. The burn and now this weren’t very picturesque ways to define his recent reunion with Ford and the sad call for help that this was.</p>
<p>Trudging into the elevator, he pressed a button to the first floor.</p>
<p>Stan stared straight ahead, brows furrowed over serious eyes. His breathing was concentrated and mellow as he tried to divert his mind from wandering and willed auto pilot to kick in. He tried focusing on the problem at hand and not about what happened to his last chance at help…</p>
<p>And what was happening to him.</p>
<p>What Bill was doing.</p>
<p>Out of all the things</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Why erase his name?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or, no, it wasn’t erased. It was still there, if anything. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Just</p>
<p> </p>
<p>changed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Unrecognizable. Indecipherable.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It felt wrong to use Stan. But it was universes better than using Stanford.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was… ʍɹʌxs dsbɐɐɯʞ.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>whatever that meant.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>What else did Bill change that he hadn’t noticed? What was out of the usual?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fiddleford mumbled something indiscernible and his head rocked forwards a bit. He was still bleeding, the front of his shirt and his neck stained red and getting on his arm.</p>
<p>Shit.</p>
<p>Stan’s brisk steps on the floorboards echoed through the hall after exiting the elevator. Pacing quick towards the room with the hideous carpet, he lay Fiddleford upright in a sitting position on the centerpiece couch. The southerner’s eyes fluttered open, yet one at a time as he began to tilt forward and Stan put a hand on his shoulder to stabilize him. Fiddleford groaned and mumbled, holding his head in a hand that rose too slow to keep himself in place.</p>
<p>“My head…”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Can't imagine you’re feeling too good after all that.” </p>
<p>The hell was he talking about? It was Fiddleford who freaked out.</p>
<p>No. Bill was responsible. Just like how Stanford was about to shoot him at the door when he came back.</p>
<p>This was Bill's fault and no one else’s.</p>
<p>They were all victims, no matter how crazy or sane they were.</p>
<p>It did feel easier to put blame on <em> someone</em>, however.</p>
<p>Fiddleford looked up at Stan and Stan moved his hand away, relieved to find Fiddleford stable enough to keep steady in one place. He stood and crossed his arms, waiting for an answer or an explanation from Fiddleford or… anything, really. </p>
<p>He was just… staring, though.</p>
<p>Nothing else. Not talking, though his bottom lip trembled as if he were about to cry again.</p>
<p>“So your head hurts. I’d like to ask what that gun did exactly because, to my luck but yours especially, I ain’t picking up pieces of skull from outta the study carpet.”</p>
<p>Fiddleford continued to stare.</p>
<p>“You gonna say anything after that? C’mon. The problem isn’t gonna fix itself if we aren’t talking about it. Why did you have my brother’s name in that gun? How are you not dead? It hit you in the face! You should-“</p>
<p>“W-Where am I?”</p>
<p>Stan scoffed in disbelief. “Real funny. Pulling the memory card for what seems like the hundredth time since I’ve known ya. Now there’s more pressing things to talk about. So start your jabbering or whatever. Why the hell did you have my brother’s name in the gun?”</p>
<p>“Wh-what brother? Your brother?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, <em> my </em>brother, shithead.”</p>
<p>“I don’t understand. I don’t remember a brother… I don’t even know who you are-!” He was clearly getting more panicked, his fingers dragging through his dirty blond and knotted hair. </p>
<p>“Welcome to the club. Now, c’mon! Why was Stanford entered in that thing?!”</p>
<p>Fiddleford flinched when Stan raised his voice and his mouth opened and closed before he could utter out a croak of an answer.</p>
<p>“Who’s Stanford? What’s… what’s going on?”</p>
<p>“Who’s <em> Stanford </em>?! I don’t know what to tell you, but you were mighty friendly with him, pal! Don’t start saying that you don’t know who he is!”</p>
<p>“I don't! I don't, honestly!” Fiddleford raised both hands over his head. “L-look! I don’t know about your brother. Or where I am… I don’t even know your name!! I’m sorry, but I just can’t remember…!” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stan stopped himself before saying anything more.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He guessed it all made sense. Oddly enough, point A connected to Z without any other evidence needed. He leaned back on his heels and drew a mental map for himself to gather all of it.</p>
<p>He had to admit to himself that he... believed him. If a portal could exist, why couldn’t a mystery weirdo gun straight out of the Jetsons have traits that could erase memories?</p>
<p>The man was... addicted. At least that was the best word he could find. Fiddleford, even before, had been flighty and obviously absent-minded. Stan wondered how long he had been like that… and if Ford knew.</p>
<p>“Alright. Look at me, yelling at ya. How ‘bout we just both calm down.”</p>
<p>Memories could resurface though. And just look at what happened when they did. He knew Bill Cipher. Knew what he could do…</p>
<p>“Wh-what happened to your arm?” Fiddleford stammered.</p>
<p>Oh right, that’s still there. Great. Now that someone brought some attention to it, it beamed an annoying and pulsing pain. If he was right, the thought was actively being shoved aside until now, as if it was being shelved on a bookcase. He groaned and resisted the urge to kick something and fly off the handle at the southern man. But,</p>
<p>
  <em> goddammit! </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This just…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>wasn't going to work. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wasted his time. <em> Was </em>wasting his time, as in the current moment. He had work to do.</p>
<p>A business to run. A brother to bring home.</p>
<p>And questions to answer via a demon who, to his perspective now, had just gotten way too comfortable tussling around the memories in <em> his </em> head.</p>
<p>Maybe Fiddleford and him had something in common. Though, while his memories were straight up being erased, Stan’s were being meddled with.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t worry about it. Damn raccoons around here, defensive little shits.” Stan walked across the room to where he had thrown his coat over the couch and slipped it on, covering the wound. “You really don’t know where you are, do you?”</p>
<p>“N-no.”</p>
<p>Stan nodded and left the room for the kitchen, grabbing a rag from the counter. When he returned, Fiddleford was puzzled to find the rag basically shoved in his face.</p>
<p>“Your mouth's bleeding.” Stan grumbled. Fiddleford hesitantly took the rag from the larger man and bit down on it.</p>
<p>“Trespassing on private property could get ya in a lot more trouble than a bruised jaw.”</p>
<p>“I was trespassing?” Fiddleford mumbled past the rag. Though muffled, it was obvious what he asked, which was saying a bit considering how much he enjoyed rambling to himself under his breath like a loon. Stan nervously tapped a finger on his thigh.</p>
<p>
  <em> It’s just another lie. </em>
</p>
<p>“Yeah, and this is my private business. What’s your deal, snooping around here? I oughta drag your ass to the cops for even being in my <em> house. </em>”</p>
<p>He obviously wasn’t going to do that, but the fear set in just right in Fiddleford’s face.</p>
<p>“Wait!” Fiddleford exclaimed and removed the rag from his mouth, clutching it in both hands and looked up at Stan from his position on the couch. “I-I promise I wasn’t aimin’ to cause no trouble. Oh gosh darnit…  I can’t go back there. I done c-came here for something. I just can’t… remember… why.”</p>
<p>
  <em> I know it’s pitiful. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> I know I should help. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> But he can’t. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He never could. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Whatever is going on. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Can't say I can exactly handle that. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Beat it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fiddleford stiffened, pausing and the silence that followed after was heavy and it lay in the air for a bit before Stan sighed.</p>
<p>“Look, I can’t do this,” He started. “Whatever your issue is, I can’t. You need to get out of here.”</p>
<p>Fiddleford nodded and stood, holding the rag, one side bloodied, close to his stomach. </p>
<p>“What’s your name, stranger?” Fiddleford slurred, half-mumbling the last bit.</p>
<p>
  <em> That’s another thing I can kill that triangle for. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I have no idea. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He clenched his fists, keeping his head turned towards the southern man, his voice grave, but if anybody, especially Fiddleford, listened close enough, they would hear the very faint tone of denial and hopelessness. “That ain't the most important thing right now. But you'll hear me around town as Mr. Mystery.”</p>
<p>Fiddleford was quiet again and stared at him, as if Stan had given him a center-piece of an unsolved puzzle, not enough of a start like a corner but enough for him to feel lost enough to not inquire further.</p>
<p>Stan’s eyebrows furrowed. “What are you waiting for?! I told ya to scram!”</p>
<p>To this, Fiddleford briskly nodded and turned on his heel, making his way out the door with haste as Stan stomped forward and slammed the door behind the lost opportunity.</p>
<p>Stan could only picture the frail man running aimlessly through the woods, without a clue of what just happened and how exactly he wound up in the shape he was in.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And how he didn’t remember Stanford Pines whatsoever.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It dawned on Stan that… well, what would it be like if Fiddleford had succeeded in wiping <em> his </em> memory? What if he couldn’t remember his own brother? Stanford would be lost entirely to the void of space-</p>
<p>or worse.</p>
<p>Bill would have manipulated an empty mind to his every whim. It was the disgusting thought of being more of a puppet than he already was (<em>dear fuck, don’t think about that</em>) and operating the oversized gadget downstairs willy-nilly.</p>
<p>It was best Fiddleford was gone. </p>
<p>But now, things have changed slightly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was time to talk to that demon.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I remember thinking up this chapter at work and what took so long to get back into this fic was writing the last two chapters before it.<br/>I hate to have invited false hope, which may turn out to bite me in the butt for having drawn this on long enough, but Stan's struggle is just so tragic I had to. Especially now with the only weapon him and Ford used on Bill in canon, Stan's identity, being totally FUBAR'ed. I think of it as Bill getting a step to the higher ground after everything Stan's done to fight him like keeping valuable information and memories safe while using the mindscape. However, unbeknown to Bill, there's a big ol' way to defeating him that opened up and i cant wait to write it</p>
<p>I have the rest of this fic typed and part two started. I wanna upload everything but I gotta be patient in myself. Until then, take the hurt.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys! It's been a while since I've written something, and I plan for this one to be kinda long. I posted some art on my tumblr about it and have been invested in the au since because I have some ideas for it. Stay tuned for more! </p><p>https://enlightening-gravity.tumblr.com/post/624025332582875136/au-in-where-bill-meets-up-with-stan-right-before<br/>Here's some of the stuff for it! Basically, I love an asshole triangle trying to make everyone's lives miserable!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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